


Finders Keepers

by PhoenixTakaramono



Series: Finders Keepers [1]
Category: Borderlands, Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom, borderlands: the pre-sequel
Genre: Also gird your emotions, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Artificial Intelligence, Atlas!Rhys - Freeform, BAMF!Rhys, Canon-Typical Violence, Cybernetics, Cyborgs, Developing Relationship, Evil Corporate Space Husbands, Existentialism, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fanart, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Handsome Jack is still a douche, How do you court an android?, Jack is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Jack is smitten, M/M, Murder Husbands, Not Strictly Canon, Plot Twists, Rhack - Relationship - Freeform, Rhys is a socially awkward android, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Science Fiction, Sirens, Slow Burn, Timeline What Timeline, Understandably it'll get a little creepy, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:32:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5249987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTakaramono/pseuds/PhoenixTakaramono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By some miraculous twist of fate, Jack stumbles across an Atlas android hidden smack dab in Hyperion headquarters. Obviously, what is he going to do with it? Keep it for himself, of course, because as the saying goes, "Finders keepers, losers weepers." What he didn't anticipate was the clusterfuck he'd find himself in, when he discovers the valuable model he'd been hoarding has a hidden backstory. There is more than meets the eye.</p><p>It's a sort-of tie-in to the <i>Borderlands</i> and <i>Tales from the Borderlands</i> universes. This is another attempt at an AU, although I hope to pay homage to elements from canon.</p><p><strong>TUMBLR:</strong> <a href="http://phoenixtakaramono.tumblr.com/">Atmospheric hints for the next chapter</a><br/><strong>STORY PLAYLIST:</strong> <a href="http://hypster.com/playlists/userid/5450886?7262534">Finders Keepers Mix</a> | <a href="http://phoenixtakaramono.tumblr.com/tagged/finders-keepers-playlist">List of Songs</a><br/><strong>ART MASTERPOST:</strong> <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/13974741">WIP Collection</a><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. _prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …asdfghjkl;’!!! –bangs head against table- Finals were coming, and my fine dining restaurant project was not going to be done with this idea impeding me from rationalizing through the design process. So you get a Handsome Jack/Rhys fanfic. Fffffffffffffff.
> 
>  **PROLOGUE SONG:** [Emperor's New Clothes by _Panic! At The Disco_](https://soundcloud.com/panicatthedisco/panic-at-the-disco-emperors-new-clothes) (I realize it doesn't fit the TFTB theme, but it was on repeat when I'd written this. Thus, we get this song for the 1st episode.)
> 
> **UPDATE (12/1/16):**   
>  _Fanart illustration by[ **Suisou**](http://suis0u.tumblr.com/post/152114065483/wip-i-wip-ii-wip-iii-inspired-by)_

The storm of profanities died on his lips as Handsome Jack immediately performed a double-take at the man he’d nearly tripped over on his way to Hyperion’s artificial intelligence branch. The ECHO devices he’d been carrying were strewn all over the floor, with the bright light of personnel photos and the information he’d been reading now glaring up at the ceiling of the space station.

All Jack could see was a disheveled head of brown hair with chunks clumped together—like someone who’d gelled their hair but had run their fingers through it anyway—and semi-formal clothing that appeared out of a wardrobe with the price-range of a salaryman fresh out of college. Slumped on the floor, the man was reclined back against a wall, his head bowed and arms uselessly at his sides. He’d been tucked in an alcove, with only his limber limbs sticking out.

“You better hope you’re already dead, kiddo,” Jack growled, bending down to fist the man’s lapels, “or there is an airlock with your name on it—woah!” He sucked in a winded breath as he only managed to haul him up by a foot or two. Stumbling under the weight, it was self-preservation that made Jack instinctively release him.

Gravity did the rest. The man dropped back to the floor with a clatter. This time his head lolled back, and there was this harsh clang as the back of his skull collided against the grey wall.

Jack’s hands were still up in the air, like he was being held at gunpoint. Looking wide-eyed at the mess he’d caused, his mind worked furiously to puzzle it out. Slowly but surely, he relaxed his muscles.

If it weren’t for that unmistakable sound of metal meeting metal, Jack would’ve assumed him to be human. It wasn’t a CL4P-TP or one of the Loaders he was looking at, at least. A cyborg was the next logical conclusion.

Clicking his tongue, Jack squatted down to his haunches, twisting his face to peer up at.... It was an automaton? He stared at the incredibly realistically-designed face, with the right flesh color and…. Jack curled his fingers into his pointer finger, and he prodded a sharp cheekbone. The texture and elasticity of simulated skin felt real enough, although the dead giveaway was the absence of warmth. “Oh, fuck me,” Jack breathed, “what is an expensive android like you doing here in my humble corporation?”

He’d seen the models paraded all over Opportunity and Helios. And he’d seen crappier ones—old prototypes or random bots pieced together—on the entertainment news feed on Pandora. This seemed to be one of the newer ones. One of those male companion types, judging by its lack of munition and the entirely unassuming, almost elitist appearance it had.

“You’re obviously not manufactured for combat, princess,” Jack told it, smirking at its convincing, permanent bitch-face. His eyes shot down the android’s wrists. His brows hiked up upon realizing one of them was actually not the yellow glove he’d thought and was instead a mechanical arm. Curious, he clenched it and dragged the poor excuse of a shirt sleeve down the powder coated metal until the entire thing was off.

“Okay, that’s new.” He hummed, examining the built-in interface on its palm. His thumb traced the shiny reflective disk. “Your arm’s not 3D-printed. It’s been welded. Lovingly, too. I can just feel the amount of affection poured into you. The poor sucker. You were probably meant as a niche product then.”

That’s probably where most of its funding went. Fancy. “So your design team weren’t entirely incompetent dicks, but they should be fired for some of their poor choices like those god-awful clothes you’re wearing… _oh hello, babe! You’re rare Atlas merchandise_. Before I bought all the shares. This explains everything!”

A body-wracking cackle burst from his lungs. This time his grin was stretched ear to ear. “Who’s your dumbass owner that obviously brought you here to show you off to his loser friends? That’s hilarious, RHYS-01000001—okay, no. I’m just calling you Rhys. What the hell does ‘RHYS’ stand for anyway? Who in their right mind would’ve given your model that name? Unless they had a good backstory for you, they should be spaced to save our brain cells from dying just by being in their vicinity. I’m crying for them.”

Jack gripped the android’s jaw, twisting it sideways so that he could get a closer look at its face. “You have built-in cybernetics,” he observed, perusing the small neural port on its right temple. At least it wasn’t a Dahl product. Expensive or not, he’d dismantle it if it came from his competitor. “That means you were intended to be multi-functional. Hah, good to know! Someone paid a lotta dough to give you these extra features. Either you were custom-made, hot stuff, or someone got their hands on one of the limited-edition models….”

He sank back on the balls of his feet, contemplative. His thumb swept over the chromatech code stamped directly onto the aluminum wrist. It was probably meant to make it less problematic for the rightful owner to have it returned to them in case it’d been lost. It would also stand to reason that the idiot who’d paid a lot of money for it would’ve installed a recovery program to track down their lost property.

Behind his mask, his eyes lingered on the immense gap to the right side of the small-printed code. Jack didn’t know if it was dirt, but there were black specks still there on the limb, like numbers or letters that had been worn away. “Huh,” he said, bombarded with curiosity, thoughts, and conspiracy theories. He could hear himself saying, “At least you still have some of your manufacture code. It’d be easy-peasy to search you up on ECHOnet.”

Returning to reality, he sighed theatrically. “I suppose the right thing to do would be to return you to your irresponsible owner.” His knuckles were white over the android's wrist.

His mouth had split into a wolfish grin, all malice and teeth. “But too bad. I’m Handsome Jack, and I do things in spades. This is your lucky day, Rhys. You’re now the property of the king.”

* * *

Jack gleefully had it carted to his office, where no sane person would dare visit unannounced without being stopped by security personnel or by the number of gun turrets that’d be trained on them. And if someone had the brains to hack past his alarms, the forcefield would disintegrate them upon contact.

For the rest of the work day, all thoughts of the android he’d stumbled upon went to the back burner as he was led on the executive tour of all of the current AI projects—ones that were coming along swimmingly and those stuck in development hell. He made sure the project of _improving_ the CL4P-TP model was among the latter, relishing in the frustrated tears of the few engineers and research scientists assigned on the job.

Of the many designs that seemed to be progressing, Nakayama’s blueprints were what Jack came here for. The wiry man had eagerly launched into the theoretical schematics of what he’d been working on, that he was fine-tuning the software to act as the extension of the Hyperion CEO. Jack had been a little perturbed seeing a tiny version of himself modeled in the computer screen like one of those fully-rendered CGI animation dummies. Jack had inspected it from all angles, even demanding to see it naked, but Nakayama seemed to have delivered on his reassurance that the motion-capture sessions had been necessary.

Jack had remembered feeling dumb wearing the full body suit long ago in the initial development phase, with those retroreflective markers dotted all over him on his joints and on specific points of his face. Nakayama couldn’t restrain his excitement on the day of the facial optical motion capture, Jack had been half tempted to tell him to calm his raging wood.

 _Fanboys_. Good for the ego, bad for the people who have an issue of being objectified.

Although detailed as it was, mini-Jack was nothing more than a blue rendering on a virtual skeleton. Before he left, he told Nakayama—the head scientist of the team expediting the project—to finish working out the aesthetics before they went onto programming his personality. With the generous deadline he gave them, he wanted to see it perform in multiple scenarios to judge for himself whether or not it’d do what he’d do in any situation. And he wanted a fail-safe loyalty program installed, so that it wouldn’t develop sentience and get the bright idea to off the original Jack in order to take his place.

The goal was to make another him, with the intelligence and longevity his clones and the digi-Jacks lacked. This way, as Nakayama promised him, Handsome Jack would forever be immortalized in the case of an untimely death. It would serve as backup in case the immortality suit project ended up going nowhere.

He’d been handed more digital surveys to fill out—presented to him like offerings to their sacrificial god–with questions like, ‘what would Handsome Jack do in Situation A?’ As he flipped through them in the elevator, he noticed there were even more trivial ones concerning his personality, likes and dislikes, so on and so forth. As the numbers started climbing higher and higher—with his floor’s button glowing a sickly bright yellow against the black ‘HJ’—he took the time to fill out a few of the quickest, most interesting ones to answer on the questionnaire.

All of them were multiple-choice, but each had a free-response section for him to jot down his thoughts. He was encouraged to be truthful, even if the truth was as douchey as he could make it. Most of all, they wanted to know why he chose the answer that he did for each one, if he had anything to say.

He’d only had the time to fill out five of them—spending most of his time typing about his funniest memory being that of him gouging out a man’s eyeballs with a spoon, and extensively describing why his favorite pet was his diamond pony, Butt Stallion—before the elevator dinged, and the metallic doors swooshed open.

So preoccupied was he in his task, he barely remembered to make a grunt of acknowledgement to the armed guard that stood at attention. It was a brisk walk down the corridor but eventually, after keying in his handprint and performing the retina scan—without overriding the breath-analyzer for shits and giggles—he found refuge in his grandiose office. The breathtaking vision of Pandora’s moon, Elpis, awaited him outside the tall windows which extended from floor-to-ceiling. The moon’s lavender hue—emitted from the craters and scarred surface—ran across the interior, casting a warm glow over the high-end furnishings and the blue illumination of his wall fixtures.

The blast of cold air conditioning struck him in the mask and billowed past the exposed sides of his face as he strolled in. “Ah,” Jack chorused, stretching his arms out wide like greeting a friend, “home sweet home.”

He crossed the distance, passing by the pair of gigantic statues flanking him—chiseled to perfectly resemble his features—to get to his desk. Someone had the foresight of bringing over a cushy-looking chair—upholstered in red leather—where he could see the silhouette of the android was seated, being propped up delicately against the backrest. Jack had to smile at the ingenious method someone had thought of to prevent the bot from falling forward. It almost looked like an interrogation scene right out of a movie. Except instead with the classic rope or cable cords tying the victim to the chair, it was tape that one might find in a hardware store.

“I’ll check the cameras later. But whoever did this deserves _a fatter paycheck for this month_ ,” he sung, elongating the syllables. Chuckling, he deposited the ECHOpad on his desk.

Swooping down, he began peeling the restraints off in long and short strips, enjoying the sounds of tearing. He was a child discovering how much fun it was to ruin things without receiving any reprimand. He stuck the broken pieces on the edge of the desk. “People would pay a great deal to get their hands on you,” Jack told it, running his hands over its clothes, feeling for the raised edges of the compartment that he knew was on every android’s body. It was just the matter of where, the size and the shape. Clearly the charger was in its arm. The neural port functioned for a USB or data to be plugged in. But to turn it on and off, and finding the reset button to reboot the system….

“Seriously. What man wears teal?” he rambled to fill the silence. “Only a loser with no fashion sense, that’s what. I’m going to take a wild gander and say that your old owner wasn’t a smoking hot babe. Oh god…you were probably another dude’s plaything. Urrrgggg…gghh?”

When his fingers swept over its neck, he paused. Gingerly moving its head and tugging the shirt collar down so that more of the neck was exposed, he regarded the black circles he’d originally taken to be a simplified tribal tattoo. The feeling of simulated flesh underneath his fingers differed from what his brain was telling him, making him feel unsteady from the disconnection. “Alright,” he said slowly, “in hindsight, this makes more sense than a bot having tattoos. I didn’t know what I was thinking. Having your main control mechanism in your throat, attempting to hide it under a tattoo like a real human, was a cute design idea.”

A large hand weaved through synthetic brown hair as Jack fiddled with the compartment with his blunt nails, searching for enough of the latch to pull up. “If Atlas was smart,” he muttered underneath his breath, “they’d have someone who thought of designing a raised rim so that…it’d be easier to…open you up—AHA!”

The circular disk swung open, revealing a complex circuitry of gears and motors. Wires—delicate as thread—were soldered and held together with plastic fastenings. Hidden behind the web was an internal fan—small as a dollar coin—to inhibit overheating. Next to it were several tiny, yellow buttons, with each of their functions neatly labeled below. They were arranged in a vertical line, based on order of importance.

The ON/OFF button was the highest. Then it was RESET, MAINTENANCE, SOS, and SELF-DESTRUCT. Jack stared at the last option for a moment. Then his gaze lifted. For once, he fully took the android’s appearance in.

He tilted its chin, examining its carefully constructed face. Originally he’d written it off as looking snobbish and elitist—and wasn’t that a great fit for all the assholes that made up corporate Hyperion—and it did look unimpressive in his opinion, but that was probably due to the clothes it’d been outfitted in. It looked like one of the nerds eager to be promoted from a lackey to a high position.

The endoskeleton inside the simulated flesh—the skin had to be made of silicone or some sort of gel, unless some genius figured out a way to stop tissue decomposition—must make up for its lack of physical intimidation. He bet if someone got sucker-punched by one of those fists, whether it be metal or fake flesh, a few bones might be broken unless someone recalibrated its pressure and collision-detection systems.

Maybe the skin was built with the concept of ballistics gel in mind, or had some bullet-proof function if the android was as dangerous as the label implied. It was either that or Atlas hadn’t wanted anyone to get their hands on this product, and had installed a fail-safe way to ensure no one would.

“Whoever was responsible for the design of your facial construction,” Jack couldn’t help but to point out, “had a thing for cheekbones. I could cut myself on those.” They’d also wanted the android to appear intelligent, subtly implied by just its broad forehead and high hairline. Were he a real human Jack was meeting for the first time, he would put the android’s age range to be anywhere between his mid-twenties to early-thirties.

His eyes were involuntarily drawn to its lips, reeled by the simulated natural discoloration. Jack prodded it, scrutinizing how it bounced back. Half of his brain marveled at how soft it’d felt underneath his fingertip. “If your purpose had been to fit seamlessly into human society, whoever worked on your project wanted you to look real,” he pondered aloud. “But why the security? Even if you were marketed to the mass population, no companion android has this. No one would sign off on this unless you were meant to protect something vital…like company secrets. So…infiltration? Or do you have sensitive Atlas information?”

Jack rubbed his hands together until he could feel fire burning between his palms. Like a hawk, he watched the android fall back against the backrest without Jack there to hold it up in place. For all intents and purposes, it appeared like a man peacefully asleep.

Migrating himself to a better vantage point, he heaved himself up on his office desk so that he was staring down at the android in the chair. His feet were planted firmly against the armrests, with the android between his legs. He lifted a pistol somewhere from his body and he placed it within easy reach on the desk. There might be a SELF-DESTRUCT button, but there would be no telling if he’d be able to push it if the android's systems identified Jack as a hostile threat.

He steepled his fingers under his jaw, thinking. His mind warred between finding out secrets and worrying about his safety. Eventually, he came to a decision. If there were several things Jack was known for, besides his murderous tendencies, it was his knack for bullshitting and throwing caution to the wind.

Gripping the synthetic hair to keep the android aloft, Jack pushed the ON/OFF button. He waited.

For several worrying seconds, the button stayed a dull color. Then it flickered to life, emitting a bright yellow glow. Jack could hear the gentle whirr of motors suddenly coming back to life and he could feel the entire machinery rumbling underneath his hand.

It took several minutes for the android’s subsystems to finish warming up, that Jack was wondering if he should’ve attempted to plug it into a universal charger first. The neck underneath Jack’s palm twitched, and when it finally finished rebooting, it blearily opened its eyes.

Jack sucked in a breath. Its eyes were heterochromatic: one brown, one a glowing yellow—marking it as a property of Atlas. He doubted it was only for cosmetics. “Why, hello, handsome,” Jack welcomed, warily watching it do nothing but blink at him. “No need to scan me with your ECHOeye. I have automated electronic disrupters to prevent you from doing that.”

It was rather eerie when the android continued staring at him, awaiting commands. The smile on Jack’s lips faded. “You, uh, weren’t programmed with much of a personality, huh?”

When the android attempted to sit up, Jack tsked, “Ah-ah-ah! I have some questions first. Don’t worry. It’s standard routine. I mean no harm to you, or to your owner who, by the way, should be making their way here now that you’re reactivated. So sit back, relax, and uh…do whatever well-coifed androids do to kick back.”

“Identify yourself.”

The voice was as uninspired as its personality. It must’ve been a default option for its voice-box.

Jack blinked. His mouth automatically moved into a frown. “No can do, pumpkin. I call the shots here. So, who is your owner? Because they,” here he stressed, “ _might work under_ _me_. I might be their boss. And you know what would happen if their android upsets their boss and stands in their way to a cushy promotion?”

The android was silent for a moment, no doubt confirming internally to see if what Jack said was true. A minute passed. “Understood. Awaiting your questions, sir.”

“That was fast.” He smirked, thinking of an inside joke. “Call me Jack. We’re all going to get well-acquainted very soon.” He leaned back, starting with the obvious question. “Who created you?”

“Atlas. Confidential information. Would you like a referral, Jack?” It’d already raised its robotic arm, and a blue glow was emitted from the disk in its palm. The android’s features spasmed, and it was looking down at its holographic projection. There was a convincing portrayal of confusion on its face. “No information or contacts can be accessed.”

“Yeeeeeeeeah, that might have to do with the fact that I now own Atlas. And I tore it down. Sorry if you got your hopes up, cupcake.”

“Your endearments are indication of emotional manipulation. I am not human. I don’t require the reassurances that you needy humans always crave.”

“Wow. You’re…kinda…you’ve got some default personality.” Crossing his legs, Jack chuckled. “Alright, cupcake. Let’s just get one thing straight. If you were human and you had the confidence to say that to my face, you’d be dead where you sit,” Jack retorted good-humoredly.

“I am programmed with many customizable features,” Rhys stated, seemingly unconcerned by Jack’s warning. “My human chose to leave the settings default.”

Jack made a noncommittal noise. “Good to know. That might change soon, as a friendly warning. So, uh, who is this human of yours?”

“Your question was vague. Please revise.”

Jack’s brows shot up. “How the fuck was that unclear?” he demanded. “I asked who. Is. Your. Human?” He might have to revise what he thought about the people who'd worked on the android. He groaned. “Shit. Do you need a list of synonyms?”

“Unnecessary. Your flair for the dramatic is duly noted.” The pupil of the ECHOeye shrank and spun, zooming in and out like a 2D camera lens to scan its immediate surroundings. After performing its Analysis, Rhys pointed out helpfully, “We are at Hyperion headquarters, on a restricted level.”

“Of course, Dum-Dum. I can’t believe it took you that long to realize. So, again, my question that you keep avoiding! I don’t like being kept waiting, Rhys.”

“Noted.” As the android’s AI was figuring out how to best reply, the metal underneath Jack’s hand was beginning to heat up pleasantly, simulating body warmth. “I have clearance to provide all answers. My creator is Atlas. They were my humans. The team that worked on me were Yve—bzzt bzzzzzzt—Feli—bzzzzzt—bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt—!”

Static had filtered into the android’s modulated, robotic voice. Eyelids shifted up and down for a moment, mimicking the action of rapid blinking. It said instead, “They were among those that I considered my humans. The Chief Scientist who worked on my design was Cassi—bzzzt—Leclema—bzzt. The head scientist who oversaw my programming and development was Rhys—bzzzzzzzzzzt.” Brows drew down in a simulated appearance of bafflement. “My databanks have been compromised. Your request cannot be fulfilled.”

“Woah. Woah. Woah!” Jack held a hand to its mouth. He could feel the instant the android’s mouth stopped moving against his palm. “There was a person on the team called ‘Rhys?’ There actually was a poor guy called that? They named you after him?”  

Because of how close Jack was to it, he could hear whenever the eyelids clicked shut. When Jack lifted his palm eagerly to catch what it had to say, Rhys replied, “I cannot confirm that request beyond the standard answers. Any further information has been restricted.”

“Well, what’s the standard answer? C’mon, Rhysie. I’m dying of curiosity!”

“Unlikely. That is a melodramatic hyperbole. One cannot die of curiosity.” Rhys shifted, moving as if to relieve a crick in the neck. “Standard answer: access denied. You do not have the necessary authority to assess the information.”

Jack heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping. He said flatly, “Kitten, you’re making this more difficult than it has to be. I currently own all the rights to Atlas. I would think I have the necessary authority to assess whatever this top-secret, super confidential information you’re keeping from me.”

“Noted. I will utilize my internal search engine for any ‘Jack’s’ stored in my memory box.” It took several minutes where Jack was sitting bored, mapping out the android’s facial features, before he saw its AI consciousness resurface. Rhys informed him, “There are twenty-three ‘Jack’s’ in my inventory. Only one has been updated, with the position you claim to have. To proceed, for confirmation, would you please verify your full identity?”

“Handsome Jack,” he replied dryly, knowing that was the brand he utilized everywhere, from business contracts to social interaction. No one needed to know his surname, especially since it didn’t have the same quaking-in-the-boots effect as the moniker he’d chosen.

“Noted.” The right optic flickered between states of glowing and being normal for another minute or so. “Handsome Jack, you do not have the necessary clearance to assess the information.”

“Oh, are you fucking with me—!” Jack shouted, slamming a fist down on the desk in frustration. He quieted down when he felt the android twitch under his palm, as if anticipating the chance it'd have to switch into another mode. In a calmer octave, he said, “Okay, we’ll have to get around that. Man, if I’d known about you, I might’ve made a little fuss about all the Atlas employees getting killed.”

“All Atlas employees have been terminated?” Rhys sounded bewildered, its expression faintly disbelieving.

“Eh, semantics.” Jack waved his hand in the air like blowing off an annoying puff of smoke. “Killed. Resorted to banditry, joined the Crimson Raiders, living a life of crime, poverty, all that jazz. Orrrrrrrrr, they work now under me.” Jack’s tongue made a sharp clicking sound against his teeth. “But we’ll get around to that. Second to final question. Who is your current owner?”

Rhys was about to answer, when something seemed to pop up internally in its system. Its mouth closed. Then it stated, “My owner wishes to remain unidentified under any circumstances where Handsome Jack would want to request information about my human, Handsome Jack, sir!”

“…Cute. I could almost imagine the respect in your last words. But cute or not, I was asking for a name.” He patted the android’s throat. “Is there a reason why you aren’t telling me that?”

“You are his hero. And his boss. And he has questionable self-preservation skills, but he fears death as much as most humans do.” The eyelids clicked shut and reopened. “But I can tell you he is the current Senior Vice President of a branch in Hyperion.”

“A VP?” Jack’s brows skyrocketed to his hairline. “Well, that would explain how he got his hands on you. Okay, I’ll meet him soon enough, if he’s got the balls to find you. Or you’ll have to wait in my office until he grows the balls to even come up here.”

“There is thirty percent of him being unable to muster the courage due to self-preservation,” Rhys supplied helpfully. “There is fifty percent chance he will, due to his hero worship. The margin of error is twenty percent. All diagnostics have been rounded up to make it easier for your brilliant mind to comprehend.”

A laugh was torn from him, until they eventually died down into snickers. “Oh my god, you are so condescending and bitchy. Whoever programed you must’ve been a riot. Was it your current owner? Or one of your Atlas humans? Actually, no, don’t answer that. From the static I’m hearing, it’s an Atlas secret, I’m guessing. Okay, Rhysie, my last questions. Describe what you can to me about your intended functions, and would you theoretically be able to remember this conversation or your current owner if, say…your system had to be restarted for some reason? This also includes all the information you currently hold, if I do the reboot.”

“I was created to be a—bzzt bzzt bzzzzt bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt—and a companion android, not to be mass produced. I was meant to be an exclusive item intended for—bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt—and to be dismantled if my humans choose to do so after I’ve served or failed to serve my function.” Rhys maneuvered its head to peer up at Jack. “This memory has not yet been saved in my memory banks. But all information I have told you are stored or have been stored can be accessed in the instance of a memory wipe. My human would have to be my vicinity when my system restarts, so that it’ll automatically trigger the loyalty program downloaded in me and he’ll be reinstated in my registration files.”

Jack’s smile was a shark’s grin. “It’d be too bad if he was unable to make it in time, huh.”

The ECHOeye scanned him with a brightly-lit filter, and Jack nearly kicked Rhys away from him. Seeing it immediately regret its decision, Jack demanded, “See what you did to yourself? What did I tell you about scanning me? If you’d listened to me, this wouldn’t have happened.” He petted its bowed head condescendingly, his other hand still on its neck.

Its expression spasmed, as if in pain, before replying in broken static, “You do not intend to harm my human?”

“Nooooooooo answer.” Jack pushed down on the RESET button, and the android’s limbs drooped. All light fled from its optics.

When his finger released the switch, Rhys’ system needed to process the sudden reboot. When it was down buffering—at least that was what Jack imagined it’d been doing—Rhys straightened up in its seat, its heterochromatic optics focused on the Hyperion CEO. Its face was arranged in a blank, neutral expression, like a company man officially meeting his board members.

“Hello, human. And thank you for your purchase from Atlas, where we, at Atlas, like to believe regardless of your god, you need not look to the heavens for salvation from adversity. Atlas merchandise can answer your prayers and grant you a power few mortals have ever experienced. You have proven yourself as a true believer with this purchase of companion android RHYS-01100001 01110100 01101100 01100001 01110011—bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt. We hope you enjoy your newest purchase, and we look forward to any future patronage. Thank you.”

“Oh my god, can I change your personality and voice now?”

“Request processing.” Rhys stared at him. “Pending.” It stared some more. “Processed. Would you like me to cycle through all your options?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“New request process—“

“—I mean _no, don’t knock yourself out_. I meant yes, go ahead and cycle through all my options. Make a note that I have to download modern slang into your databases later.”

“Requests processed.” Its eyelids shut. In a robotic drone, Rhys listed all of its alternative customizations one-by-one, starting with personality traits each numbered at one—almost nonexistent—to five—at the extreme—that Jack could adjust.

It felt like hours where Jack could only listen in fascinated horror as it kept droning on and on, until the words started blurring together into one fuzzy daydream. When it begun cycling through the options to change its voice by repeating a phrase in various pitches and accents, Jack had to put a stop to it.

“Rhys, you can stop yammering away.” Jack leaned back, his expression screwed into bemusement. “Whew, your noggin must be big to hold that many features. I understand why someone might automatically choose your default settings now. You’ve nearly overwhelmed me! By the way, kiddo, your new owner’s Handsome Jack. Just call me Jack.”

“Processed and registered.”

“...That was quick,” Jack commented. Cradling his chin in an upturned palm and propping his elbow on his knee, he ordered, “Give me a run-down of any packaged modifications. If you don’t have any, then you have the honor of copying mine and sounding exactly like my beau-ti-ful voice. Isn’t that wonderful? I should have you know it’s a high privilege.”

“Duly noted.” Rhys then launched into a shorter descriptive explanation of Jack’s selections, most of them being stereotypes seen in films and popular media. Some of the choices admittedly piqued Jack’s interest. When it started nearing the end of the list, its eyebrows were drawn in an unhappy, upside-down frown. “There seems to be a recent package that’d been downloaded into me. But it’s damaged. Would you still wish to proceed, Jack?”

“Only if it’s not a virus. But yeah, sure. What the hell.” Jack gestured for it to continue. “If it won’t open, it won’t open. What does it contain?”

“Accessing. Unzipping the file. Opening audio logs and rendered model folders.” Rhys paused. For a minute or so, it did nothing but stare blankly into space. Jack had to call its name and snap his fingers several times underneath its nose.

Returning to itself, back in its robotic tone, it stated, “It…was modeled after one of the Atlas scientists that’d worked on me. There is code for personality and audio logs. But my systems detect file corruption. Shall I delete it from my inventory, Jack?”

“Woooooooooah there!” Jack said hurriedly, slamming his hand on its arm, wrenching its attention. He demanded, “Atlas scientist? You mean someone had their personality and voice simulated, and installed into your core?” That was what he’d assigned Nakayama and various other personnel to accomplish—simulating Jack’s personality and mannerisms into an AI program. Tightening his grip, he snarled, “Someone else has beaten me to it?”

“Heart rate elevated. Breathing pattern has increased. I have detected dopamine injectors in that chair behind you. It is recommended that you sit down on it to calm your nerves, and that you ignore its questionable seminal and vaginal fluid residue staining it. It is also recommended that you send the chair to be cleaned.”

Jack peered over his shoulder at his favorite chair, upholstered in yellow leather. A crisp laugh and a huff escaped from him. “No, I’m chill. I’m all Zen-like.” His breath whooshed out as he let go of the android’s arm. “Which Atlas scientist? Do you have their name?”

For the first time, the android was giving a range of interesting expressions. Hesitation was one of them. Optics whirring, it divulged reluctantly, “My recognition systems believe it to be…Rhys.”

Jack’s brows shot up. He waited. When no answer was forthcoming, Jack scoffed, crossing his arms. “No surname? Just…Rhys No Name? Like a mysterious character in a movie?”

“Nothing else is detected. Would you like me to delete this file?”

“No, no, I’m not telling you to do that.” Jack chewed on his lower lip, his feet dropping back down onto the floor. He prowled closer until he was crowding the android into its seat. He murmured, “Will it give you a virus or system errors if you install it? Because, I gotta admit, I’m curious to see it in action.”

“My systems detected no viruses when the file had been scanned.” Rhys met his gaze calmly. “I cannot confirm that without installing the file into my systems. Would you like me to set-up the program or remove it permanently?”

“Hold up.” He turned on his heel, striding around his desk. Sliding a drawer open, he rummaged through the contents until he found his ID chip. Returning, he held the gadget next to Rhys’ neural port. “I’m going to plug this in. And I want you to make a copy of the file and save it in here. I want to test it somewhere else before I end up telling you to do something irreversible. Can it be copied?”

Rhys closed its eyes. “I can only copy some of the contents. Others are restricted. Would you like to proceed?”

“Hell yes.” Jack jammed it into the port, watching as Rhys’ face scrunched up in an indescribable expression. “Alright, calm down. No need to wet your pants…that didn’t hurt you, did it?”

“I am prompted to tell you it is recommended by Atlas management that you should handle my internal workings with proper care and handling. I am a delicate machine. How would you like it if we took something and crammed it into one of your orifices?”

“I don’t remember Atlas having this much of an attitude,” Jack replied, a side of his mouth lifted up crookedly.

There was a whirring sound. Then Rhys remarked, “I am also prompted to tell you my systems detect two humans approaching this room. They will arrive at the doors in approximately three minutes. One-point-five if they run. How would you like to proceed?”

Heterochromatic blue and green eyes zoomed briefly to the tall double doors. Pulling away from Rhys, he traveled back around his desk to take a seat in his comfy chair. He swung his legs up on the desk, casually propping a foot over an ankle. He was watching Rhys’ reaction closely as he remarked, “That’s probably your old owner wanting his toy back from daddy, Rhysie.”

Rhys’ shoulders twitched. “I have…a previous…owner?”

“Yeah.” Jack weaved his fingers above his stomach. “He abandoned you in my corporation, Rhys. Hiding you somewhere like a shameful secret. You had the fortune of being given notice and pity by thee Handsome Jack, his hero by the way.”

“I see.” Rhys was quiet for a few moments. “It will require several minutes for me to download the folders onto your ID chip. Would you like me to remain from sight in the meantime?”

“Naw, kiddo. You see, this is where I’m different from your old owner. Unlike him, I am not ashamed of what I own. He’s going to see what happens when you leave a valuable out for any random person to come across.”

Several knocks rang against the door, resounding like metal being pounded against metal.  

He hissed, “And speak of the devil! They’re here. Rhys, can you stand up? Rhys!”

Rhys’ eyes shot open. “I am not sleeping.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great and all, but haul ass over here. I’m going to have you play a part. It’s a little role I call rubbing the official transfer of his ownership to me in his face. Seriously, cupcake, get behind me and look as intimidating as you can. When you see him, I want you to pretend that you smell something nasty under your programmed olfactory senses. Did you get all that?”

“You humans,” Rhys drawled, straightening up to its feet and moving to do as it was commanded, “place too much emphasis on posturing and intimidation, mimicking the behavior of various animal life recorded in the kingdom Animalia.” It extended a hand up to shut the lid to its control panel.

Jack glanced up over his shoulder when Rhys finally reached him, and he grinned at the convincing sneer on its face. Whistling under his breath, he praised, “Atta boy. Now, don’t say anything and be a pretty ornament in my office until I tell you not to. Got it?”

Once Rhys nodded, Jack shifted his focus onto the ECHOpad and the gun he’d dropped earlier on the desk. Kicking his foot out, he gently dropped his heel on the edge and he pulled the ECHOpad closer. When it came within range, he filched it and dropped it onto his lap. Before he repeated his action, this time for the gun, from his peripheral vision he saw a long shadow reach over him to pick it up and deposit it quietly into Jack’s lap. Ignoring Jack’s incredulous stare, Rhys inched back several steps to regain its place.

The knocks were insistent, like annoying background noise. His head had been twisted to peer at the android but when Rhys remained immobile, Jack merely shook its strangeness off his mind. He schooled his expression into a suitable one—one that implied he was irritated of being bothered. Turning the ECHOpad on and sinking his foot on the intercom button, Jack barked, “Is the person you bought with you the same loser who’d littered and forced me to pick up after him?”

Silence. Then, a man said, “Uh, someone’s here to see you, Jack. He claims he has something important to say to you face to face—” He broke off, and Jack could imagine the two men squabbling behind his door. Another minute passed. This time he sounded uncertain as he corrected, “Uh, I mean, it's not that imperative, if you’re busy. He says he can come back another time if it’d be more convenient for you.”

Rhys had been right. Its previous owner was an ass-kisser. Jack chuckled darkly, reaching down to tap the button he’d hidden underneath his desk. “The forcefield’s down. Send him in. As for you, you can go back to whatever you were doing. Hell, keep Butt Stallion company.”

He heard a chorus of “yes, sir,” before there was the echoing clatter of a heavily-armored man making his way back down the corridor. Jack allowed the remaining man time to comb his fingers through his hair and search his suit for any wrinkles or lint, for the purposes of appearing decent and professional, to be appropriating an audience with the Handsome Jack.

The door slowly creaked open by several inches, enough for a dark-haired man to tentatively poke his head in. With admiring eyes, he was taking in the impressive square footage that was Jack’s office.

Once he saw who it was, Jack’s face burst into an ear-to-ear leer. He greeted enthusiastically, “Wallethead!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno where I’m going with this, but blame two marvelous creations for inspiring this premise. One was the manga (and J-drama) _Absolute Boyfriend,_ and one was a fanfic where Charles Xavier falls in love with a cyborg/ android Erik Lehnsherr who also develops feelings back. Inspiration-leeches, bah. (I am incredibly out of my comfort zone with the techy stuff. Which is why I’ve always avoided writing Star Trek fanfiction, even though I was an avid consumer of Kirk/Spock fanfics. But have some technological jargon that I do know.)
> 
> I’ve been writing about dickbags a lot recently, but spinning them into endearing protagonists. It’s kinda…weird. Huh.
> 
>  **ENDING SONG:** [Something New by _Secret Weapons_](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=dAIzBGxJtj4)  
>  You can find me at [Tumblr](http://phoenixtakaramono.tumblr.com)!


	2. _something new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _-whispers- …TroyBakerisRhys._  
>  I literally beamed whenever I got those notifications in my Inbox telling that there’s something for _Finders Keepers!_ My goodness, the reception. My sincerest appreciations to **_smokingsickstyle, Scoobisanoob, Grevonraeus, laternfly,_** and **_SlashDreamer_** for your kind words! As well as everyone's kudos and bookmarks. And a huge shout-out to that anon on tumblr; I was quite astonished and pleasantly surprised by your support! Everyone’s like excitable teacup Pomeranian fluffballs, I cannot help but be moved by the energy of this community. By the by, in my initial draft, this was all in Jack’s POV. Let’s...try something different for this chapter!
> 
>  **SONG INTRO INTO _SOMETHING NEW:_** [Gimme Something Good by _Ryan Adams_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=802vbfZe9io)  
> 

Hugo P. Vasquez was still admiring the sheer scope of the space, when he heard a familiar nickname that only a certain President of the Hyperion Corporation would call him by. Reminded of what he came here for, like lightning had struck him, his spine went rigid. His broad shoulders were pushed back and he held his head up tall.

His gaze roamed until he zoomed in on the dark-haired man seated behind a large desk, with the android standing close behind like a sentinel. Atop the raised dais, in an environment steeped in the illusion of grandeur, even at his scruffiest Jack appeared for all the world as if the universe was his oyster. He’d been leaning back in his chair, his feet rose obnoxiously high up on the desk.

This was also the first time Hugo was to be holding Handsome Jack’s undivided attention.

His mouth was dry. Generally, people were able to see the real Jack only fleetingly in public. Often times the man's voice would be broadcasted over intercoms or other such interplanetary devices instead. And like most Hyperion employees on Helios, Hugo had never really gotten close to the man. It’d been rather difficult to have a conversation when his role model was driving his fist into Hugo’s gut. The closest he got were glimpses of his retreating back, his silhouette, or a side profile before he realized he’d been used as the butt of another one of Jack’s practical jokes.

Examining the grey and white streaks in that coiffed hair, his attention was caught by the light reflected off the three silver clasps which held that infamous mask in place as Jack tapped away at the ECHOpad in his lap. A popular theory employees often exchanged over the corporate water-cooler was that the face beneath was ravaged beyond surgical hope, and with a moniker like Handsome Jack, the CEO was obligated to maintain consistency by covering it up. Now Hugo was getting an exclusive close-up. He felt faint. Crafted after Jack’s likeliness—when he’d been slightly younger, missing the wrinkles that naturally came with age—the mask was paler than the suntanned forehead exposed above the V-shape.

There was something disturbing about the mismatch that was not quite what the various propaganda operations advertised. In the promotional posters or billboards, he was always portrayed as a charming, cheery provider. Handsome Jack in person had more than a passing resemblance to the psychos on Pandora whose idea of fun was skinning the faces off of people to wear over their gas masks. Hugo could feel the partially-digested dish he’d consumed earlier now churning in his stomach. It required a lot of effort to restrain his urge to run his fingers through his hair implants, to reassure himself it looked right in front of the man he admired. “Hello, S—ir!”

His ears felt hot when his voice cracked, making Jack look up. Under his boss’ growing grin, Hugo coughed into his fist, attempting to casually pass it off as something that’d gone down the wrong windpipe. Striding forward with a confidence he did not feel, he croaked, “Right. That’s me, ‘Wallethead.’ I’m surprised you still remember me, Handsome Jack, sir.”

His palms were clammy. Sliding his hands into the crook of his elbows, he kept his eyes level with Jack’s, his attention kept stubbornly off the Atlas merchandise he was here to retrieve.

He could remember the fear and panic that’d gripped him by his throat during his lunch break when he couldn’t find Rhys in the alcove he’d originally secreted it in. When his locater indicated the android was still at Hyperion HQ, he’d thought his heart had been ready to stop once he overheard the whispers of someone of Rhys’ description being brought to Handsome Jack’s office. Yet here, in the place itself, his trepidation was floating farther and farther from each step taken and the more seconds he stayed alive in the man’s presence.

Jack waved a hand through the air dismissively. “The hair’s new, but I’d recognize that smarmy henchman-y voice anywhere. Reminds me of an old cartoon from Earth long ago, when everything was natural and green and none of the artificial GMOs they try to peddle today as ‘all-natural.’ Spoiler alert: if you don’t think about it too much, it’s not so bad.”

Sinking back in his chair, he spread his arms out grandly. The back of his palm nearly smacked into the android’s abdomen. He crowed, “My man! It’s been a long time. I think I nearly missed seeing your shiny, bald head. You’re no longer stuck knees-up in mail, I see. So you’re finally in my realm, Mr. VP. Take in the view. Tell me, is it not the swankiest office you’ve ever had the privilege of seeing?”

He should be feeling honored. Instead he halted and his mouth blurted out, “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” He swore within his mind once he saw a change come over his boss.

Jack’s previously welcoming disposition was replaced with displeasure, his outstretched arms lowering halfway.

Hugo chuckled awkwardly, being at the receiving end of the man’s infamous mercurial mood shifts. “I mean, it’s wonderful. It’s a wonderful office.” His eyes were drawn helplessly to the Hyperion-branded handgun in Jack's hand.

Appealing to that vanity and ego—bordering insatiable narcissism—and hoping for the best were well-known rules to live by, if one expected to survive in Hyperion. He purposely aimed an admiring look up at one of the two gigantic statues. As he passed them by, the part of his brain that was still functioning recognized the material as sheet metal as he finished, “You...have something, alright.” His footsteps were pounding in unison to his heartbeat.

“Nu-uh.” Jack wagged a finger at him, as if scolding an unruly child. “That lame attempt at flattery aside, I think you have the wrong idea. I was not,” here he hooked his fingers to make air-quotes, “‘keeping tabs on you.’ I remember occasionally sticking wallets onto your dome—for fun, yeah—but I didn’t think that would go to your head.”

The medically grafted skin of Jack’s mask followed the movement of muscles beneath, as he casually thumbed the hammer of the semi-automatic. The sound was a muted click in reality, but it boomed in Hugo’s ears. Jack’s expression was morphed in a fluid expression of bemusement as he stated, “Did you really believe I would keep an eye out for some no-name employee, out of the hundreds that I employ? I’m sorry to break your heart, but I gift _affectionate_ nicknames to everyone. Don’t tell me you honestly thought you got special treatment or something from yours truly.”

All the blood drained from Hugo’s face. His mind floundered for words that could salvage what remained of his dignity, to clear up the misunderstanding. His eyes darting around, searching for inspiration or answers, eventually his gaze passed over Rhys—which Jack noticed with alarming acuity.

“Ah-ah-ah! Did I say you can even look at it?” Tossing his ECHOpad on the desk, Jack swung his legs off the surface as he got on his feet. Both of his hands were splayed against the desk, the gun underneath one of them. “I admire your self-confidence, which you apparently have in galactic spades, hidden behind that spineless act you’ve got down pat. Pretty deceptive actually. I’ll give you kudos for that.”

Hugo’s hands were out before his chest, petting the air in a placating gesture. “How ironic, that it’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Listen, it's a funny story—!”

“—Uhp!” The sharpness of Jack’s voice made the words die in Hugo’s throat. “Before we get to that, I want reports first. Anything I should know about? Actually, roll that back. What are you a VP of? I never bothered to remember you after you got your new position.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Rhysie, scan him.”

Rhys stared at Jack, its brows pinched downward. For a reason Hugo could not ascertain, there was an ID chip inserted into the side of the android’s temple.

“Well? Are you just going to stand there looking dumb?” Jack demanded. Hugo couldn’t see his face as he demanded, “Did your internal processor overheat?”

Its eyelids clicked once. Then it said, “You seem to suffer from a case of selective, short-term memory. It is an understandable human fallacy. You are a man of middle-age. I will note that for the future.” Rhys appeared genuinely puzzled.

Hugo’s jaw hung ajar. It took everything in him not to flee after having heard his android directly disrespecting his boss. Gesticulating wildly and shaking his head, he was trying to catch Rhys’ optics.

“Ah, no, you might need to be checked. Handsome Jack doesn’t have any flaws,” Jack corrected. “Are you calling me old, asshole?” Surprisingly, he sounded amused than insulted. A little of the tension bled from Hugo’s shoulders upon hearing that.

“You have an abnormally high perception of yourself. That also has been noted and processed.” Turning its head in Hugo’s direction, there was something that didn’t feel right as its expression wasn’t the simulated facial movement he’d usually be greeted with, like trying to mimic a human’s smile. If anything, Rhys seemed to take his presence like it was meeting him for the first time.

With an unenthusiastic wave, it said, “Hi.”

“...Hello to you too, Rhys.” His words were stilted. He gritted his teeth. It rankled him, being under that judgmental gaze. With a convincingly haughty air about it, the android seemed to have determined something in Hugo to be undeniably lacking, like Jack had told it something about its owner that it didn’t like. He said, “Sorry about Rhys, sir. I’d put him away so that I wouldn’t be distracted during work. I didn’t think you would come across him.” An inkling of concern was frothing in the back of his mind like a skag.

“‘Him?’” Jack repeated. He aimed a disparaging look in Hugo’s direction. “Yeah, well, we’ve been having a swell time getting to know each other while you summoned the courage to come up here.” Without looking back, he snapped his fingers. “Rhysie, I gave you a command. Hop on it.”

Hugo was about to inform him that Rhys couldn’t, when it listed, “Hugo P. Vasquez. Birth records place you in the homeworld Demophon, with dual citizenship in Helios. Current position is Senior Vice President of Securities Propaganda. Congratulations on your promotion, Vasquez.” Its optics narrowed down at the hologram projected from its mechanical palm. “All other information is irrelevant, Jack, unless you wish to know his age, blood pressure, and personal catchphrases.” Under both of their gazes—one taken aback and the other intrigued—Rhys’ head was then canted, as if finding something it’d read mystifying. “I also recommend revisiting a spell checker. ‘Thang’ is not in the English dictionary.”

As if it’d reached an epiphany, its expression brightened. Oblivious to the tension in the air, Rhys flicked a thumb up with its other hand.  “But I did not know you were a musician. You ‘rock and roll’ too, Vasquez.”

At first, Jack stared at Rhys blankly, in disbelief. With climbing eyebrows, he peered at the floating type in the hologram. Air was subsequently expelled from his mouth, like a hybrid between chuckles and breathy sounds. He descended into mirthful snickers. “No,” he wheezed, “really?”

Hugo was glowering at the machine with a look of betrayal. His face heating up, he hissed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about—!”

“That is a lie. Your subsequent denial—confusing in its abruptness and emphasis—makes me think you wish to save face,” Rhys announced, offering him an odd look. Glancing between the men, its expression soon became regretful. “I see. Human feelings are so fragile; I have embarrassed you in front of your boss. Correction: you do not say, ‘rock and roll.’ You are much cooler than that.” It was looking at Hugo expectantly now, like waiting to be praised for having done a good deed.

He wished he could sink through the floor. His mouth worked soundlessly for a while before he finally regained his voice. “I—uh, that’s right, Rhys. I am...cool.” The words were a bitter taste in his mouth.

He was going to have a talk with the android later.

Feeding into his humiliation, by the time Jack had eased up on his chortles, his mask was boasting a wild hyena leer. With a flourish, he collapsed back down into his seat. He sniggered again into the laced hands brought to his mouth. Then once more. After another while, once he brought himself back into control, under a deceptive calmness he murmured, “Securities Propaganda. _Huh_.”

There was now an edge to that voice that sent alarms ringing in Hugo’s head. The man cycled through moods as easily as changing clothes, going from friendly to aggressive and back again. Underneath the mask’s eyeholes, there was a gleam in that heterochromatic gaze.

Hugo shifted on his feet, unable to decipher what he was thinking. It was always difficult to know what was on the man’s mind. That unpredictability factor was what generally kept Hyperion personnel on their toes.

Swiveling his chair indolently from side to side, Jack was gauging the distance between him and the dais. “Are you waiting for me to come to you?” He gestured ostentatiously to the upholstered leather chair across his desk. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. We’re going to have a civil chat between two adult men, who just happens to have a Mr. AI McSasspants listening in.”

When Hugo rushed to do his bidding, Jack was repeating, “Securities Propaganda. Senior Vice President. Huh.” Blunt fingernails were tapping an indolent drumbeat against the desk. His other hand was cradling his jaw, the blue of the glowing wristwatch illuminating the planes of his mask. “Wasn’t there a recent accident with the old one? ...Henderson, from Aquator? The guy who liked sprinkled donuts a little too much.” He snapped his fingers. “Yeah! Something about accidentally ejecting himself out of an airlock and into outer space. Holy cow, they picked you?”

Hugo’s hand had automatically raced up to his hair, fingers skating over the hardened gel, before he realized what he was doing. Bringing his hand back down, he casually adjusted his tie instead. He managed to say levelly, “I’m good at the PR stuff. And Henderson liked me. Had to, after sucking up to him for three years. So it was a given.”

His gaze passed over a robotic arm prototype affixed vertically onto a slot in the desk, and the back of a picture frame. Remembering Henderson’s frozen corpse floating outside the space station, with a practiced smile that oozed charisma and straight white teeth he assured, “I’m good at what I do.” He looked up. “That’s why there’s nothing new to report, other than that everything’s coming along the way they’re supposed to.”

Jack issued a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement but other than that he was quiet, unsettlingly engrossed for once by what the man had to say.

“I was happy to be considered for the promotion,” he resumed to fill in the awkward silence. “Working in the mailroom, even being punched by you...I had ambition, and they saw that I was destined for something greater. I looked up to you, sir.” He’d thirsted after recognition for so long, he even saw it in his dreams. Hugo’s eyes were focused on the odd sight that was the pieces of tape stuck to the edge of the desk before him. Fiddling with one of the strips, he rambled, “I thought how could I better serve you and Hyperion with my qualifications, and this was my calling.”

“Riiiiiiiight, my shuttle was off-planetside when the incident happened. I remember telling the losers on the board to find someone competent to fill his place. See, it’s a funny thing. Ironic, actually.” His voice was pitched low. Leaning forward in his seat, he ripped the tape from Hugo’s fingers. “ _I liked Henderson too_.”

Hugo’s head slammed back far away from the mask, his knuckles white, gripping the armrests.

Jack settled back, smashing the sticky tape into a ball and flicking it away at a nearby waste-bin. “But, eh. There’s no use crying over spilled milk. He was an overly sensitive guy anyway. It was easy to make him cry. Rhysie, come here.”

Relief had hit Hugo like a punch to the gut when Jack rolled his chair sideways, away from him. He was petting the air beside him several times. Although the android was giving Jack a strange look, it ambled over obediently.

“Quiz time, Vasquez. Do you remember what’d happened to Atlas when I bought all the shares?”

Hugo nodded, his head still pressed against the leather backrest. Cautiously relaxing his death-grip on the armrests, he rasped, “You shut them down.”

“And do you know why I shut them down?” Just as Hugo was about to reply, Jack interjected, “Bzzt. Too slow! The answer is because I can.”

Hugo was fairly certain that wasn’t what had happened. It’d been a series of internal financial disasters and fatal casualties that spiraled out of control. Hyperion management had decided it would be more profitable in the long run to dismantle their operations than to be drawn into the instability. Nonetheless, he echoed, “Of course, sir.”

“Which is why everything that was considered a property of their brand is now considered priceless, depending on how rare it is. So, this roomba here?” Jack stretched an arm out, the tattoo on his wrist a dull black under the light. Rhys was jostled forward several times whenever his hand smacked against its back. (They both knew, with the heavy density of its endoskeleton and motors, the android was only humoring Jack.)

“An exclusive product that was not meant to be mass produced? It begs to question...where did you get your hands on Atlas merchandise? Hup-uhp!” Gesticulating sharply, Jack shushed him. “I know you spent like a million gazillion credits to purchase...did you spend a lot of credits? If you didn’t….”

He let loose a long, drawn-out whistle. “It might be one of the luckiest finds of the century. Did you even confirm it’s real, and not a reproduction or an imitation product? Any papers or packaging...the what-have-you’s?”

In the face of such enthusiasm, Hugo could only gaze uncertainly back. He crossed his legs, pondering the strangeness of Jack’s attitude. It was disconcerting that his boss was showing so much interest—and there was something a little off about these gestures—but this was his first time exchanging conversation with Jack. Maybe that was just how he was. Fairly...animated. Even from the man’s engineering days, when Jack had been a no-name programmer people had mistaken for a ‘John’—no one dared mention that name in the man’s presence now, not without expecting to be cheerfully shoved out of an airlock or having the oxygen strangled out of them—there was this energy in him that seemed to never cease.

Jack was looking at him expectantly, his hands clasped underneath the metal fastening of his chin, appearing like the very image of a child waiting to be given his present.

Hugo leaned forward, his fingers folded loosely over his knee. He shared in a conspiratorial whisper, “He was in pieces when I first found him. Nothing but a torso, a head, and several body parts. No boxes, no information. To be honest, it was kind of shady. Each part would’ve cost me a couple grand, so I had to make sure each module was authenticated and not repurposed.”

“‘Several grand,’” Jack parroted. With disarming casualness, he asked, “By several grand, exactly how much are we talking about here? Manufactory price or...?”

“If you’re asking to make sure I’d paid from my own wallet, there’s no need to be concerned there; I can validate that, sir.” He waved it off. “Let’s be real; you and I both know his real net worth is beyond any number they could’ve asked me to pay.”

Gesturing at Rhys, pride was evident in his voice as he confirmed, “It all checks out. He’s all-genuine, sir. His original owners didn’t know his real value. I wish I had instructions—I think that’s why he was such a steal—but I have people who figured it out by trial and error.”

“So you had ‘him’ put back together like Humpty Dumpty,” Jack commented. His smile was sharp. “Great story. But I asked where you’d found ‘him.’”

His prior enthusiasm was leaking out of him like a needle taken to a balloon. “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Apprehension had lined his face. It was a well-known fact history existed between his boss and certain planets. It was only with much trepidation that Hugo divulged, “I...had...existing business on Pandora. I only came across him by chance.” His expression was now fixed in hesitancy.

“What were you on Pandora for?”

Upon detecting the lethalness in that tone, Hugo swallowed. He felt like he was balancing atop a rickety saw. “Nothing much,” he hedged. “I was closing a business transaction. It required me to be off-Helios.” He winced when Jack’s mask descended into something akin to skepticism.

Jack huffed a laugh through his nose. Reclining in his seat, he mentioned, “You see, there’s jumping the proverbial shark. _And then there’s jumping the goddamn shark_. You’ve jumped that by several light-years and ended up sailing into the cosmos, if you expect me to believe that.” Mid-dialogue, his hands had slapped together before one flew up into the air to demonstrate the motion. “Wanna try that again?”

“I-I really was!” The air conditioning in the office had suddenly gotten colder, almost arctic even. The electronic earpiece was burning by his ear. “It’s personal business, as of yet. And it’s going to stay that way unless the information my informant gave me checks out.”

“An informant.” Jack swung his legs up on the desk again, landing with two loud thumps. Rhys was examining the boots down in front of it perplexedly, like it was seeing a human’s feet for the first time. He asked casually, “What for?”

He sucked his teeth, weighing the danger. Hugo had little desire to be planning his own eulogy if Handsome Jack didn’t like what he was saying. His shoulders hunched. He’d best stick close to the truth, in the event that the president came to an epipathy and utilized Rhys as a lie detector. “Ah, we were supposed to meet up at New Haven. But they gave me the wrong coordinates. And I think they didn’t know the difference between New Haven and Old Haven. I...was patrolling the perimeters for a long time, figuring out a way to get in, when I stumbled across him at a...a junk sale near...a rebel settlement.”

“A bandit camp,” Jack remarked offhandedly. “So. Did it ever occur to you—” He recrossed his legs. “—that you’d come across Vault Hunters, lying Pandora scum, bandits as you’ve obviously had the pleasure of getting acquainted with, I’m assuming—” He hauled the gun over. Smirking at his employee’s instant recoil, he slid it back into the holster strapped to his thigh. “—or the Crimson Raiders? Who, I have to remind you, used to work for Atlas. Who, I might also add, are led by two crazy, backstabbing, murderous psychopaths who go by Roland and Lilith.”

“What a coincidence. It’s another funny story.” Hugo chuckled nervously, his knuckles white against his dress pants. “So I apparently came in when there’s this power struggle going on. I was able to slip under the radar. Most people weren’t interested peddling their wares in an unsafe environment with...gunfire and explosions...and all that.”

Jack regarded him with an unimpressed look. Pointedly, he glanced up at Rhys and back again at Hugo. “Strike one.”

“No, really. I’m not making this up!” He launched to his feet, hands slammed against the desk. “I was doing my business, laying low. That’s when I saw him! Y’know how Atlas guns are still a thing on Pandora? They were selling those parts out front. He was in the back in boxes or wrapped in tarp, with the other expensive goods and junk that nobody wanted.”

“I admire your chutzpah.” Jack clicked his tongue. “That is quite the story. It’s so stupid, I want to believe it’s true. But you expect me to believe, on all those years on Pandora—where people lie, barter, and steal to survive—that no one’s noticed the expensive android modules out back until you came along?”

“He was actually missing parts when I found him. An arm and cybernetics; apparently the only things people on Pandora found of value. They still had the receipts. It wasn’t hard hunting them down.”

“‘Hunting.’”

He nodded.

“You realize that sounds ridiculous?”

He nodded.

“Sit. Down.”

He sat down.

“Rhysie, how far back does your memory go?” Jack craned his neck, peering up sideways. “Can you validate his story?”

Rhys inclined its head, waiting for the information to be retrieved. Under the burden of Hugo’s wide-eyed stare and their tense atmosphere, eventually it gave its confirmation.

“You see, sir, I wasn’t bluffing.” Hugo licked his dry lips, glimpsing the intensity of the android’s ECHOeye fading after no longer being activated. The treacherous parts of his brain were whispering that suspicious activity was going on. An unknown emotion was filtering into his voice as he remarked, “To be frank, I was dreading coming up here. I was half prepared to apologize to you, sir, for Rhys. I was expecting him to give you the stink-eye throughout the meeting. But he’s really taken to you, hasn’t he?” 

While the passive-aggressive snark seemed like what Atlas would’ve coded into the AI if there ever were a chance-encounter, Rhys had complied to Jack’s commands readily like a Hyperion robot.

His boss seemed to have thought something similar as well, if that leer broadening on his mask said anything about what he found so humorous about this situation. Jack crooned, “You see, kiddo, you caught me in a good mood. I’m sure your brain can’t hold back your freakishly disturbing idolization for me for what I’m about to offer you, but I’m willing to do the right thing.” Slowly pivoting the ECHOpad around until the screen orientation was facing Hugo’s, he declared, “I’m buying Rhysie off you.”

Hugo could only stare at him, uncomprehending. His eyes caught another glimpse of the strange sight that was the ID chip, before his attention was regained by his boss.

“I was originally going to keep it anyway when I found it because, ah, y’know the saying, ‘finders keepers, losers weepers.’ But I like you. You should just be glad I’m a nice guy and didn't dismantle it when I first fell over this large hunk of metal. Let me tell you, if it were any other robot, I would have it in pieces by now, repurposed for our manufacturing or for one of my many side-projects.”

His mouth worked soundlessly. To that childish logic, he felt like protesting that he saw Rhys first. Clenching his hands into fists, he barely held that urge at bay. “Are you pulling another one over me, sir?” He laughed, trying to play it off. To him, it sounded forced. “Because you know I came to you to get him back. T-that’s a good one!”

“Does it look like I’m laughing?”

The laughter instantly withered in his throat as a cold feeling washed over him. He repeated desperately, “You’re...joking...right?” What went unspoken was the accusation that Jack couldn’t possibly be forcing him in the position to choose between keeping his rare valuable and staying on his boss’ good side.

If so, there was only one real answer. No matter what, if Handsome Jack desired something, he was going to get his hands on it regardless of whom or what stood in his way toward acquiring it. He didn’t even know why Jack was bothering to frame it like a proposition, if it were true. There was a reason why the rumor mill went wild with speculation of how Jack got to the top and stayed there. He didn’t know where the bravado was stemming from, or if it’d been fear or greed short-circulating his logic, but he stuttered, “C-can I refuse? Because half of my brain really wants to but the other half of me doesn’t. Sir.” His voice was miserable.

“You could,” Jack allowed, his tone kept light, “but I’d listen to the part of me that’s telling me to give into my completely-voluntary-and-how-incredibly-generous offer. You’re getting Handsome Jack’s money out of this, Wallethead. My credits, by the way. Let’s say I’m a sensible boss who cares about his employee happiness.”

Those heterochromatic eyes dived down at the ECHOpad briefly. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at him. “Now, I don’t want you to think of this as an opportunity to take advantage of me. I’m rich, but I don’t have piss for brains. I still have to approve of the final amount. But feel free to type the appropriate amount you wish to have wired into your account that’ll make you feel better about giving Rhys up.”

With a finesse Hugo was stunned his homicidally-inclined boss possessed, he sent the device sliding across the desk until it was within Hugo’s range.

Hugo stared down at it numbly. The still-functioning part of his brain recognized the blank check as a test. Jack’s control over him wasn't a knife to his throat, but the metaphoric leash was ever so quickly tightening around his neck. He could feel the weight of his boss' gaze contemplating his unmoving form.

“Let me tell you, I was carrying important documents when your android tripped me. Now, again, I could be an asshole about it and take your toy away from you, and not give a shit about you going, ‘waah waah, that’s so unfair.’” His fingers mimed Hugo talking. Under a saccharine tone used for addressing toddlers, he cooed, “Rhysie, pumpkin.”

Rhys peered down at him. “Your brain seems to have confused me once more, but this time as a cultivar of squash.”

“That’s great, pumpkin. But, hey, I’m gonna ask you a question. Be honest. Do you like me or do you like him better?”

“My preferences have yet to be set by you,” it informed him. Just as Hugo was starting to realize the implication of what Rhys was saying, Jack’s eyes had lit up with unsuppressed glee as it revealed, “You are registered as my owner. Logically I am inclined to value your commands over anyone else’s.”

“What do you mean he’s registered as your owner!” The words were out before Hugo realized he was the one to have said them, interrupting Rhys from inquiring Jack about something else. Shooting to his feet, feeling hot bitterness bubbling in his chest, he demanded, “Were you recalibrated without my permission? I wasn’t informed of any transfer of ownership!”

With joint glares, Jack and Rhys spoke in unison, “Sit. Down.”

He collapsed back down into his seat again.

“You heard Rhys,” Jack stated. “His systems thinks I’m his owner. And isn’t that just too bad? Ah-ah-ah, Rhysie. Daddy’s talking now.” Patting its arm absentmindedly, he resumed in a calm manner, “This isn’t premeditated, if that’s what your peabrain is thinking. I was minding my own business when in he drops into my life like a moonshot. Do you know what usually happens to the assholes who disrupt my routine?”

Upon see the man tense, Jack said, “That’s right. Straight out of an airlock. Or shot.” Curling his fingers until only his thumb and pointer finger were exposed, he pretended to be pointing a gun at him. “Pew pew.”

In the strained silence that followed, the android saw it as opportunity to pitch in: “While I have identified that showing off is one of your defining characteristics, Jack, I am prompted to tell you that you have already achieved your goal of intimidating Vasquez. Your preference for utilizing scare tactics is also noted within my memory logs.”

This time it was looking directly at its old owner. Its cybernetic optic had been reactivated. In a distinctively snider tone, the android imparted, “His body is demonstrating the classic symptoms of fear. Thereby it is illogical to expense further effort maintaining this farce. He will do as you wish, if he has the same inclination toward self-preservation that my databanks have recorded. You’ve made your point. Explicitly.”

“Rhys,” Hugo said heftily in a lower octave, chancing it. Try as he might, a little of his distress had leaked into his voice. His gaze was affixed once more to the side of the android’s head. Deliberately avoiding Jack’s narrowed eyes, he commented, “You have an ID chip plugged into your neural port. Is that Handsome Jack’s? Is that why you’re borrowing Rhys? Until it’s finished downloading?”

“Hoooooooly shit,” Jack breathed, a trace of annoyance beginning to creep into his voice. “How the holy hell did you get Henderson’s position? I’m not seeing it yet. Listen, after everything that’s happened today, I’m feeling uncharacteristically generous and benevolent. But even you’re pushing it. Asking you is a courtesy. And I’m throwing in money to sweeten the pot.”

Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, Jack said, “If you’re as competent of a businessman as you claim, you’ll come outta this with your job and all limbs attached. Otherwise everything you’ve said to me is unreliable shit. I had high hopes for you, Wallethead, but you’re starting to make me think you’re all bark and no bite. What. A. Disappointment.”

The Adam’s apple in Hugo’s throat jerked. His mouth tasting of sawdust, he said hoarsely, “I understand it must be important that you have him. But I-I can’t sign anything yet.”

When he saw the irritation flit into a murderous expression, he was quick to pacify, “Not that I won’t, sir! It’s just...Rhys, are you...are you sure about this? Going with my boss? I’m only asking because...the law requires me to. Legally, you have rights as well.”

Both Jack’s and Rhys’ expressions were contorted in confusion, until the android seemed to realize what he was implying.

Blinking at him, it said, “I am surprised by this sudden concern you have regarding my welfare. But it is understandable. You live in a materialistic society. Now that I’m being taken away from you, it is within your human instinct to naturally strike back at the threat that you believe to be stealing from you. And you’re using moral responsibility and the law as excuses to bolster your argument.” Forming that familiarly awkward, close-lipped smile, it assured, “You need not to worry. I am not being coerced against my will to serve Handsome Jack.”

“Ahhhhh,” Jack drawled, stretching out the syllable. Bending forward until both elbows were on the desk, lacing his fingers underneath his metal jaw clasp he scolded, “I don’t appreciate that you’re making me out to be the villain. It’s your choice, whether you accept it or not. There is no bad guy in this. This is a civil exchange between two handsome businessmen who just so happen to be boss-and-underling, and both of us being as wealthy-as-fuck. Did I hurt your feelings? Is that what you’re being petulant about?”

Without waiting for him to respond, rolling his eyes expressively behind his mask Jack plowed forth, “Rhys, your old owner is apparently a sensitive guy who cares about what you think. So, you’ll be the one to tell him why I’m taking his toy away.” He threw his hands up. Kicking away from the desk, he swiveled in his chair so that he was looking out the tall windows at Elpis. His arms were spread out. “I’m not saying anything. Anything Rhys tells you is of its own accord.”

There was a dark feeling twisting in his gut as he took in the combined picture that was his boss physically turning his back on him and the android doing the same, only metaphorically. Washed away by its modulated voice box, as it begun listing reasons why it would be entering Handsome Jack’s servitude, Hugo’s eyes dropped to the screen of the ECHOpad. 

The nails that were digging into his palms could break skin. An app had been opened already, awaiting the numerical values that have yet to be inputted and the request for both of their electronic signatures. No matter his answer, Hugo realized Rhys was going with Jack. It was just the matter of how Hugo was going to respond.

Feeling the invisible pressure he was under, with trembling fingers he reached forward.

* * *

After that, the meeting didn’t last long. Vasquez had sent one last lingering look in Rhys’ direction before he was forcibly escorted off the office premises by the same guard who’d brought him here. Jack had thrown in one last command to “stick around, pal,” before the doors were shut.

Rhys passed its attention over to its current owner, surveying the man’s appearance and body language. The reconnaissance of its new surroundings hadn’t been difficult to perform, but it had yet to ascertain concrete truths beside the initial impression it'd gleaned of the man's eccentricities and mannerisms from their first few interactions. Jack was absorbed in his one-sided argument, his hands steepled underneath his jaw clasp as he examined the transaction he’d essentially intimidated Vasquez into accepting.

His expression dark, he was muttering to himself that he “may have jumped the gun,” that instead of “pulling the carpet underneath him” as he did minutes before, he should’ve lulled Vasquez into a false sense of security and “string the dumb asshole along” until Jack got all that he needed from him.

Seeing as he was engaged in his chanting that “Handsome Jack never makes mistakes,” to the right of them Rhys glanced down at a small picture frame.

There was a dark-haired child with impossibly bright blue eyes depicted. She was beaming toothily into the camera, dressed in a sleeveless outfit of thin cobalt fabric and two fingers held up in the iconic V-sign. The lighting when the photo was taken gave the illusion of blue streaks in her hair.

The ECHOeye was reactivated to analyze the photograph. Programmed into Rhys was a subroutine to familiarize itself with anything or anyone of relevance to its owner, in order to integrate better into their life. This child had to be significant to Rhys’ human for the man to have preserved her memory. Rhys would put the girl at the age of four-to-six, at the time the photo was taken.

As the optic zoomed in, autofocusing on the subject, a pop-up HUD screen appeared, obscuring everything else that had been in its field of vision. Perusing the contents, Rhys observed how most of the information had been intentionally blocked from anyone accessing it. The encryption was impressive. Since neither Jack nor its systems had issued the prompt to utilize its hacking skills, Rhys didn’t go beyond that, respecting the implied wishes of whoever had wanted to keep the information confidential.

Past the garbled mess, however few the words were that the android could make out, they were catalogued into Rhys’ memory logs to be pieced together later. Seeing as it’d attained a result and seeing as any further effort would’ve made for a fruitless venture, Rhys canceled the action.

The text faded away with the light in the ECHOeye, and Rhys was regarding the seated silhouette of its owner again.

Heterochromatic optics perused the middle-aged man. So this was the tyrant whose name had been a curse on every Atlas personnel’s lips on Promethea, when the android’s body had still been in prototype. Yet here Rhys was, as legal property from a legitimate transfer of credits and paperwork. Its gaze lingered on the craftsmanship of the synthetic flesh that the mask was constructed out of, and Rhys peered down at its own hand with an intense expression. It clenched and unclenched its fingers, careful not to exert too much pressure. It began, “Jack—”

“What is it, snowflake?” he responded distractedly. His posture and tone had gone back into what Rhys assumed to be one of normalcy, now that he wasn’t putting on an act.

Rhys paused, again noting its owner’s insistence to miscategorize the android with anything under the sun. A part of Rhys recognized them to be endearments humankind was inexplicably fond of, and it filed that knowledge away in a folder labeled C:\USERS\OWNER_HANDSOME JACK\\.

“—Jack,” it tried again, bringing a hand to its neural port. Fingertips hovered millimeters above the ID chip. It seemed slightly sacrilegious to be sharing such intelligence—intimate by AI standards—with an outsider, no matter if it was its new possessor. If Rhys could feel human sentiment—beyond the programmed defaults—it would be feeling protective over the code within itself from one of its creators. The damaged package was tightly secured within a labyrinth of antivirus programs, already evaluated for the prevention of potential corruption.

“The folders have finished downloading,” it stated, instantly snatching back Jack’s attention. Rhys asked nonchalantly, “How do you wish to proceed?”

Like earlier when it’d first accessed the files, the programmer’s face momentarily flashed through its field of sight—this time it was a memory of its human counterpart bent over the android that’d been dismantled on the lab table, muttering to himself as he affixed a robotic arm to replace the chrome prototype that’d been damaged, the skin at the corners of his brown eyes crinkling as he regarded his creation with a warm expression—but as quickly as it came, it vanished.

“—say we open the baby up and see where we go from there,” Jack was finishing, not noticing the android’s lag. His face was turned away as he asked, “So, I’ve seen my fair share of robots—worked on several, spearheaded others, etcetera etcetera—but how do you work?”

“I am an amalgamation of the hundreds of personalities of the experts who’d designed me and written my code,” Rhys replied, the default answer instantly arriving at the top of its head. “But what makes Atlas byproducts stand out are our ability to retain information and learn from them. As our humans evolve, so will we, shaped by our experiences with our user. We are easy to maintain. However, if we are to be in a site without access to technology for an extended period of time, short of powering me down, Atlas recommends switching me to biofuel instead of battery packs. Or, should you choose, I am compatible with other sources of renewable energy. It would just require a maintenance upgrade with acquisition and changing of parts.”

Optics blinking rapidly, Rhys stated uneasily, “Regardless, it...may not be in...your best interests, Jack, to allow this file to remain in my systems. If you are not careful about ejecting objects from me or if my systems are overloaded, it may crash my hardware and render us incapable of accessing my files or any upgrades.”

“Hold up,” Jack commanded, his seat spinning him around until he was regarding Rhys fully. He accused, “You hadn’t mentioned anything like that before.”

“I imagine that is how it is like for all corrupted files. Eventually. I wouldn’t know. This is my first time finding an irregularity in my systems.” Rhys mimicked a shrug it’d seen its human counterpart performing numerous times afore, when Atlas was not just a memory. It repeated flatly, “How would you like to proceed?”

Jack’s eyes were narrowed beneath his mask. Pondering for a bit, he spoke, “There isn’t any virus or malware. I specifically remember hearing you say that. You were only unable to calculate the possibility of system errors when we go through the set-up.”

That was restating the obvious. An observation about another one of humankind’s rhetoric had automatically been ready to escape Rhys, but something shifted in its program, making it close its mouth. Based on prior instances and initial profiling of its owner’s personality and preferences, the ever-adjusting algorithm of Rhys’ AI had detected that its owner didn’t like having his flaws pointed out. The default personality—set to be straightforward yet reasonably polite to avoid intentionally upsetting its owner—held it back from voicing that commentary.

“A file corruption is imminent,” Rhys ventured instead. “I imagine it is like owning a hard-drive and saving all your files on it. Then one day, you forget to properly eject it or it malfunctions. It is difficult to recover all your files after that.”

An undignified snort escaped from its owner. “I know that feeling. You have no idea how many nights I spent cursing my life whenever that happened. It pays to back-up your files. But like the existence of shitheads on Pandora’s nacho-flavored stratosphere, having it happen to you at least once is an inescapable law of the galaxy.” Thrusting a hand out, he wiggled his fingers impatiently. He demanded, “I just have to be careful, right? So, gimme.”

Gingerly extracting the ID chip—shorter than a standard knitting needle—from its port, slowly, once it was out completely, Rhys handed it over.

Once it made contact with the man’s palm, Jack abruptly scooted sideways. The momentum forced Rhys to move out of the way, until Jack was facing his computer screen. Reaching forward, he plugged the ID chip into one of the ports on the side.

Not long after, the computer _pinged_.

“I would take you home with me and give you the grand tour of my awesome estate,” Jack bragged, “but it’ll be driving me too crazy to sleep. So let’s see what you look like! I hope your twin isn’t a disappointing code monkey. I’m hoping for a cyborg or someone with human augmentations. Maybe he has a neural implant.” He shrugged carelessly. “Or prosthetics. That’s a thing. It’s the poor’s man option. But there has to be a reason behind the way you look.”

Of course the human would care first about appearances. Instead, Rhys remarked, “You do not care if your computer is affected.”

“Calm your pants. I’d back-upped all the files I need. But if my computer crashes, then we know who won’t be getting that Atlas scientist’s personality now, wouldn’t we? Spare parts are easy to come by. Atlas merchandise is much harder.”

Before Rhys had the chance to respond, a pop-up showed up on the screen, with DRIVE TOOLS highlighted and folder icons labeled beneath the bar. There were only two folders: RHYS_AUDIO LOGS and RHYS_ANIMATION RENDERS.

Rhys’ features imitated an astonished reaction, brows shooting up. The timestamp on the bottom right of the screen did not match Rhys’ internal chronometer. Optics traveling back and forth between man and machine, it commented, “I am obligated to remind you, Jack, that you do not have complete access to all the file contents. The most recent one you have is not recent on my database. Your ID chip does not contain enough free memory to copy and paste the algorithm of the simulation of his personality.”

Jack ignored the android, selecting the folder containing the supposed animation. One of the brows on his mask arched up upon seeing the hundreds of GIFs of various animated walking models and the facial captures representing different emotions. Yet, even set to extra-large format, the icons couldn’t show all the details. Bringing his face closer to the screen, he squinted.

Tapping one of them where the clothed anatomy was full-view, he scowled upon seeing that the enlarged picture had a wall of green and colorful static messing with the bottom portion of the graphic. All he could see was the model’s upper torso, captured in a mid-walking pose.

“Whaddya know, fratboy here looks exactly like you,” he disclosed, sounding entirely amused by their similarities. Propping a fist underneath his jaw, he studied the GIF. His other pointer finger pecked away at the program’s right arrow repeatedly, speeding through the rest of the images. He only slowed down whenever there were the one or two renders that portrayed Rhys in a flattering angle.

That was actually an exaggeration. Since Jack was preoccupied by what was on the screen, Rhys briefly eyed its owner with subtle reproach. It allowed Jack the delusion by maintaining its silence. Returning its gaze to the screen, it drank in the familiar sight of one of the more significant individuals behind its creation. Its optics were lasers glaring into the screen, filtering the information the images depicted.

The digital renders weren’t an accurate representation of the man in its memory logs. While they managed to capture the expressiveness that its creator had in his actions, it wasn’t possible to fully simulate the effortless way—which Rhys remembered admiring many times—that the facial muscles would move underneath flesh to convey the human’s moods. In this set of renderings, he was dressed in a lab coat and stylistic formal-wear beneath. Even with the eccentric choice of glowing yellow buttons on his clothes, there was a self-assured air to this version that could make him blend seamlessly into the atmosphere which tended to accompany the upper class.

Rhys frowned, remembering the way its creator would devote his entire attention on the robot. Even with the most technologically-advanced AI, machines could never fully emulate the vivacity that came naturally to living organisms. Also unlike the android, its counterpart was missing its cybernetics and the tattoos that spiraled from neck to torso. Rhys recalled the scientist having a pair of functioning arms and eyes—no prosthetic, cybernetics, or human augmentations in sight.

Unbeknownst to the android, in the hindbrain part of Jack’s mind he was grasping that black suited Rhys, being that darker colors generally gave people the illusion of being lean and sophisticated. His attention lingered on the expanse of flesh exposed by the popped collar. Pausing on an uncorrupted GIF, he leaned in closer. Placing two fingers against the touch-screen, he shot them diagonally from one another. The program zoomed in on the face. “Even the cheekbones!” Jack exclaimed, releasing a low whistle. “Either he was someone more powerful than you let on—that’s narcissistic, by the way, to make you after his image—or someone had a crush. Man, if the last one was true, what I wouldn’t give to be the fly on the wall the first day he saw his face on your design. I gotta give props to the kid though. He knows how to dress himself.”

Throughout his commentary, Jack kept eyeballing the android’s garments critically, and then comparing the ensemble to the one in the computer. His expression was pained. Thrusting a finger blindly in Rhys’ direction, he declared, “Yours, though, are burning my retinas. I don’t have to be an expert in fashion to want to torch the eyesores you’re wearing. We’re doing that, by the way. Torching them; sometime tonight or before the week ends.”

“I do not recall this package being made or downloaded into my databases,” Rhys murmured, filing that command away. Catching the man’s fixation from its peripheral vision, Rhys solved his dilemma by zipping up the spare company-branded vest its old owner must have given it, covering up the old dress shirt and red tie Rhys faintly remembered one of the Atlas scientists wearing several times before. “The status of your computer seems fine so far. Should we wait longer to be certain it’ll pose no problem to my systems?”

Jack grunted, his eyes shooting away. This time, exiting the folder, he selected the remaining one. He was rubbing his hands together and swaying in his seat like following an invisible tune as the audio logs loaded.

Rhys’ optics flew down to the scarred tissue across both forearms. The scratches and raised edges gleamed lavender or turquoise depending where the light was caught whenever Jack shifted. Rhys tilted its head. They weren’t clean cuts performed with surgical precision. It was an assortment of ragged lines. There were also splatters of faint skin discolorations that could only be produced from burns or corrosion, but the randomness of their placements indicated possible workplace mishaps instead of physical altercations.

Its systems processed the new information. An initial theory was instantly formulated: Jack’s injuries indicate he was often a target of violence as well as being accident-prone. For verification, Rhys accessed old articles on the ECHOnet.

As it waited for the information to be retrieved, for some reason it felt something akin to an electric spark in its cerebral module, making its jaw twitch microscopically. A monumental, invisible force was adjusting its head so that it was no longer peering directly at the human. As the after-effects of that unexpected sensation prickled over the artificial neurotransmitters, Rhys’ AI sent a security-check sequence to the receptors to investigate the source. It felt a genuine moment of puzzlement when the sensation disappeared from its circuits and diagnostics had compiled a report that nothing could be found where it’d felt the suspicious activity. With the assurance that there was nothing to worry about, Rhys merely recorded the instance into its memory—also making certain its internal cooling system was functioning properly—before switching its attention back to its prior task.

It was taking longer than usual for results to show after performing the search. But before it was worthy to give cause for concern, notable excerpts from public statements of Jack’s past scrolled across Rhys’ optic. Skimming through the readings in one one-hundredth of a second, it’d denoted that its owner was a former Hyperion programmer with prior engineering background before his notorious takeover years later.

The glow in its optic dimmed. Correction, Jack was not accident-prone. There was a greater possibility of its human being uncaring of his own injuries, or having a higher-pain threshold from experience or from the need to maintain appearance. Internally checking its modes—those accessible and those locked to it—Rhys paused, momentarily confused when it came across the desired code. There were defense and built-in nursing functions installed in its hardware. Yet for the sake of confidentiality and insurance, Atlas had installed a subroutine where they couldn’t be discussed without being activated by certain trigger phrases or incidents. And the android couldn’t access the ones that’d been restricted, not without its humans’ permission. Rhys was pulled out of its inspection once a distinctive crackling was heard from the computer speakers.

“—you told me this isn't the most recent log,” Jack was chattering away, “but I find the most interesting ones are often the last. Did you know, rather than going conventionally in order, that the ending usually sheds a light on what you’re gonna get? That’s how I choose my movies. I would rather have things spoiled for me and then go on the journey to see how things got there, than going on a hyped-up shitfest and then being disappointed. Don’t you agree?”

“...What am I agreeing to?”

Before Jack could dignify that with a response, more than a few voices filtered through the speakers. The static was interfering with Rhys’ sensors, twisting noises beyond recognition. The people being recorded sounded like they were speaking in the distance.

Jack had already opened another program, adjusting various bars to fiddle with the audio, which filled the air with the distorted dialogue, crackles, and pops. Despite seeming preoccupied by the task, his body was angled so that he was facing both the computer and the android. To Rhys’ distant awe, even with the mask the human’s expression could write stories about what he could possibly be thinking.

After one last _zzzzt_ , a recognizable voice filtered into the static and it took all of Rhys’ efforts not to put its fingers to the monitor, bizarrely expecting the human to suddenly recognize his creation through the screens. Jack was now watching Rhys closely, searching for something, as the android felt itself swept away by the familiarity of the man’s prerecorded intonation.

 _“Zzzzzzzt—s…orry about the last log. Hey, buddy. So, quick summary: if you can hear me, I’m assuming that you have the RHYS unit. My unit, who I’d programmed and worked on for a long time.”_ The human Rhys was physically modeled after had a voice that was smug, smooth and cultured in the slick company man sort of way. It was also somewhat suave and syrupy at the end, murmured like he was speaking huskily into a microphone after having taken a shot of alcohol. From its peripheral vision, the android noticed Jack leaning in as the human was saying, “ _So listen carefully, whoever you are._ ”

A repetitive click-clacking of fingers dancing across a keyboard was heard. “ _It hurts me to say this. He’s practically my firstborn son. Uh, scratch that. I meant metaphorically. Not...literally. I don’t. He’s not. I mean…._ ”

There was a breathy, frustrated sound being expelled into the microphone.

After a while, he was murmuring, “ _But…this…is better for everyone…in the end. I want someone who doesn’t have the same attachment I have, after having worked on RHYS—him, the android for so many years. And he looks so much like me, it’s disturbing. I’m looking at him right now; that’s how I know you’re listening to this, by the way.”_

Having discerned the troubled pitch in its creator’s normally measured voice, without much prompting the android was covertly calling its human namesake through their private commlink, and failing to reach him with each try. One call. A second. And a third. By the fourth or fifth, the android was beginning to register the futility behind its redundant actions.

 _“So it’s not like I can’t do it. I tried taking a stun baton to his face…let me tell you, even powered down so that he couldn’t feel pain—because we did install pain receptors, to make him more human-like—the guilt I felt afterward was so bad. I couldn’t go through it. The most I can do is rewire him, taking out important parts. But—oh god—his face. It was like watching your face melt like wax and seeing a robotic skull underneath with glowing eyes. Not gonna lie. It’s freaky._ ”

“You’re sick,” Jack observed mildly to the machine counterpart, without tearing his eyes away from the computer. His voice suggested that he was entertained by that notion. “And a bit of a wimp.”

The android granted Jack with a swift glance sideways, before returning its attention back to the audio log, trying to recall the instance the scientist was describing. There wasn’t any memory log of the human having attempted to do so.

Evidentially, the recording of Rhys agreed with Jack because a sound of disgust was expelled into the microphone. “ _I know. It’s creepy in the psycho kind of way. I had to patch him up—ugh, I’m getting off topic again. I did so many recons. I think…I think it’s messing with my head. This is technically my break-time. And guess what I’m spending it on. Aw man, this is what being alone does to you. You start liking the sound of your own voice. It beats sitting in solitude for eternity until….”_

In the abrupt hush, in the absence of audio, a thrum had risen, blanketing the silence. The electric thrum was familiar, like a force field was thrown up and the recording was made close to the generators. An intake of breath. “ _Anyway_. _I know, to you, I’m a stranger but I have to ask you for a huge favor. The deal is you have to be the one to do it. Or get someone else to do it for you. I can’t just order him to off himself.”_

The scientist took another deep breath, like he was steeling himself to reveal something momentous. A picture came into Rhys’ cerebral module, of its owner with his head dipped against the entwined hands brought up to his forehead. _“So…dismantle him. Tear his parts apart, until no one can be able to piece him back together. Throw him into a junkyard. Melt the parts. Repurpose them. Scatter him to the ends of the earth, whatever. I don’t care, but he cannot meet with Gortys. We—Atlas made them to be compatible, so that they can find each other in the event that either of them are separated. The only way I can make sure they won’t is if one of them or both are irreparable._ ”

Jack was leaning back in his chair, as far away from the screen as possible. He was regarding the screen contemplatively, his knuckles brought below the mask’s mouth.

“ _If you own RHYS, uh, the android me, not ‘me’ me, you’ve basically been staring at my face this whole time. So just imagine me there, giving you the saddest look possible. RHYS, if you’re there, give your owner the saddest look you’re capable of_.” The audio paused, as if anticipating that the AI was doing as it was told. Then the recording resumed, “ _Buddy, I hope you’re doing it. Otherwise, I feel stupid_.”

Although belated—it’d been late to register that command—the android formed its face into an expression that it'd calculated may have the highest ability to affect the notoriously cold-hearted man.

“ _Oh yeah. Does that make you feel guilty yet? Basically, if that’s not tugging at your heartstrings, you have a cold, black heart, in which case I give you a cheerful ‘fuck you.’ Lesson is, don’t be an ass. Respect a dying man’s wish—ES!”_

A shriek blared through the speakers. A muffled expletive. Then a loud crash, all the while the screeching continued. When Jack swiped a finger on the audio control, their ears were left ringing from the deafening reverberations of that banshee wail.

“ _Dumpy!_ ” the scientist was wheezing, suddenly sounding far away. “ _Ow, my back. I landed on my back._ ” Although muted, he could still be heard over the happy screeching—which seemed to have picked up after the vocal acknowledgement.

It was then that the audio fizzled out and Jack leapt back to the audio controls. The media program that he’s used to play the recording had its bar at the end.

Rhys was watching as Jack swallowed, inspecting the way the muscles of the human’s throat worked as he fiddled with the program. He was skipping around the track, replaying key moments from the dialogue.

“… _we did install pain receptors, to make him more human-like….”_

_“…Dismantle him. Tear his parts apart, until no one can be able to piece him back together. Throw him into a junkyard….”_

_“…he cannot meet with Gortys. We—Atlas made them to be compatible, so that they can find each other in the event that either of them is separated. The only way I can make sure they won’t is if one of them or both are irreparable….”_

_“…he cannot meet with Gortys.”_

_“…he cannot meet with Gortys.”_

_“…he cannot meet with Gortys.”_

Before Rhys could intrude on the insanity, Jack had pulled the window with the audio extensions back up. This time, he selected the second-to-last. The Atlas scientist began this one by introducing himself, as well as mentioning the date and time in a listless intonation—like he’d done it a million times before—but the difference between this one and the last was that his voice was articulate. Confident instead of the dour and weary tone he'd adopted prior. Loud, in an environment that didn't have the interfering noises from before.  

“ _—I’d worked on them simultaneously. They needed a good programmer and someone with prior experience in robotics. Even from my data mining days, I knew my way around a computer still._ ”

Jack’s mouth stretched, his heterochromatic gaze drawn elsewhere. He was regarding the android fully now, which Rhys returned with quizzical incomprehension. He seemed to be trying to unite the image he was seeing with the track playing unhindered in their background. The mixed expressions on his mask were peculiar, fueled by emotions which only some were identifiable. Intrigue and amusement were the most perceptible to anyone on the receiving end of his stare.

In the meanwhile, the recording was saying, “ _That’s what made them notice me in the first place. They wanted to make sure I was supervised, in case I thought ‘wouldn’t it’d be grand to cause them trouble or whatever.’”_ Deliberately drawn-out and emphasizing his words, the _s_ arcasm was leaking through the static that was interfering with the comm. “ _At least I knew how to keep my mouth shut back then. Again, discretion. Both projects seemed like a good idea at the time—_ ”

The audio hissed, and the track seemed to skip a significant portion of what the scientist had been recording. By the time they could grasp comprehension again, this time it captured him saying, “ _—I swear I see—them in them. Their faces and their damn model names. They’re not even hiding it—!_ ”

“ _Cass—bzzzt—has gone into hiding. I don’t know where Felix went. I hope he and the girls made it out okay. Yvette was lucky—or smart, to have predicted this—to have backed out early. I haven’t heard from her all this time. Last I know, she was considering Hyperion._ ”

The feed went quiet, and if not for the bar indicating that it still had less than a minute and twenty-one seconds remaining, Rhys would’ve thought the audio had shut down.

“ _I miss her_ ,” the man was saying quietly. “ _I miss her and Sash—I just thought…I thought we were close.”_ Something in that tone made Jack’s expression shift. The scientist sighed into the microphone, sounding for the entire world as if the weight of a planet was on his shoulders. _“No, never mind. I don’t know what I want. It’s the fumes talking._ ” His voice was gruff.

Another abrupt skip, and this time he sounded firmer: “— _they can try to take what they want from me. I’m not the most intimidating guy physically—yes, I know I’m not the buffest and I know I look like a wimp that’d be easily overpowered; shut up—but they’re not going to have the satisfaction. Not without me putting up a fight or taking some of them down with me. They don’t know how to take the gun turrets and forcefields away from me. And if it comes down to it, there’s still enough juice in the stun baton for me to batter up…. Oh my god.”_ Rhys groaned into the microphone. “ _This is my life._ ”

Muffled, like he had his head in his hands, he was murmuring in the recording, “ _Technically, I programmed the robots. I don’t think they’ll be an issue if I still have—_ ”

“ _If you have either of the two units with you, even if you want to be rich and kiss the CEO’s ass, don’t take them to a megacorporation like Jakobs, Dahl, Hyperion, Torg—bzzzzzzzzzt bzzzt bzzzzzzzzzzzt. And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t be a thirsty asshole and try selling them to a potential client either. Atlas made sure Gortys’ and RHYS’ systems were compatible for a reas—bzzzzzzt. Unless you’re a crazy jackass or as dumb as a bandit, keep them away from—! Keep RHYS away from—s—ns—and other _—_!"_

_Fsssssssh!_

Silence ensued.

Again, the audio log was rewound several times—until Rhys was certain it must’ve been etched into their memories—but Jack focused on the names mentioned and the portion where the man’s determination had bled through. Finally, when he had enough, the abrupt stillness that fell over them was nearly deafening. The heavily-reinforced windows and architectural structure did its job of maintaining the space station together from the hazards that came from being in outer-space. Yet, of the thick metal walls that made up Jack's office, Rhys had to revise its initial diagnosis when the acoustics were absorbed and the quiet which came over them settled in like the slash of a sharp knife. 

Glancing at the folder properties, noting the date it’d been recorded—it’d been a total of three years since the date last modified, with the oldest one being that of nine years—Jack turned in his chair once more, his arms crossed.

The look in his eyes was intense. Briefly, he considered his newly acquired property, his brows slanted severely downward. Then he said, “So. I have a few questions for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I did promise a 2nd chapter. I wish you a pleasant holiday season and a Happy New Year! :)
> 
>  **ENDING SONG:** [Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful by _Paloma Faith_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wF4r_WFzkho)  
>  If you desire atmospheric clues for any installments, you may find me **[_at tumblr!_](http://phoenixtakaramono.tumblr.com/)  
> **  
> 


	3. _the uncanny valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give a shout-out to [**Suisou __for her incredible fanart**](http://suis0u.tumblr.com/) and for inspiring the first segment of this chapter. Most of you have probably already seen both illustrations by now; they’re equally stunning and atmospheric, oh my goodness. <3
> 
> To **_smokingsickstyle, Suisou, Scoobisanoob, terracannon876, FlockOfReyes, Pantheria, linzolee, Wufei_W, SlashDreamer, Serendipital, SomethingSimsy, KingJack, Evra, tubagirl444, Kogouma, sugarby, MetalDeer, Ellis_Shepard,_** and **_HoneybeeJack (ToriLayne25)_** , and to everyone else who took time out of their schedule to leave a comment, my sincerest gratitude for the encouragements and your patience! Truth be told, I hadn’t expected the story to generate any interest. How wrong I was, hah. But egads, what rickety foundations we started from. The outpouring of interest has been quite galvanizing, honestly. This’ll be my first experimental venture into the sci-fi genre. I’m excited. 
> 
> **SONG INTRO INTO _THE UNCANNY VALLEY:_** [Toes by _Glass Animals_](https://youtu.be/z4ifSSg1HAo)  
> 

**Fanart Illustration** © [Suisou](http://suis0u.tumblr.com/post/139977966373/suis0u-wip-i-wip-ii-wip-iii-wip-iv-this)

* * *

In the vacuum of outer space, in the Lagrange point between Pandora and the planet’s geostationary moon Elpis, deep down within the bowels of a ten bedroom estate were two silhouettes—an eerily humanoid machine on its back and the programmer looming over it nearby. Old documents and hard drives were strewn about Jack’s workshop, with the Atlas logo stamped onto each. His ID chip and his firearm were buried somewhere underneath.

As he’d recently discovered, his knowledge of all the passwords and information downloaded into the hard drives years before, even authorizing him to review classified schematics that’d never made it into development, was incomplete. His ability to access the files he wanted was restricted. Even with property and title ownership transferred over to him, Jack did not have the highest clearance.

Being bequeathed with a mystery had left a numb, hollow void in the pit of Jack’s stomach. It gnawed at the corners of his thoughts, demanding to be sated.

This was the third time he was trying to authenticate with Atlas’ now-defunct main server, using the Administrator account he’d been given. Although Atlas Corporation was no longer in existence, once their information had been uploaded onto the ECHOnet, it was retained forever.

Two computers stared back at him, one being his personal computer and the other overriding Atlas’ security codes. Glowing squares were refracted against his eyes as he analyzed the script of one of the windows running in the background:

ANALYZING NETWORK – PROCESSING DATA

Console loaded…

Execute a program: hailtothekingbaby.exe

 

Hailtothekingbaby.exe running

Welcome Handsome Jack!

Enter a command: … **|**

He brought his fist up to his mouth, his fingernails against his lower lip and his palm against the metal clasp of his jaw, as his other hand manually typed out the code. As the decryption software ran through the individual values, recycling through the many numerical combinations to predict the master passcode—by now it’d passed 19,000 key sequences—a pop-up flashed onto one of the computer screens he’d been logged into:

INTRUSION DETECTED – FIREWALL BREACH

His smile was grim.

In the privacy of his estate, Jack’s appearance was less than previously put together. A few wayward strands had escaped his coiffed hair, drooping over his mask as he worked. His eyelids felt weighted, eyeballs dry as a desert bed, with his mind floating on a cloud for quite some time already. To boost productivity and to make his work seem less mundane, he’d opened a music app on his ECHOpad, eventually settling on a radio station once his ears registered a familiar man’s voice; the selection of music played became white noise to Jack while he toiled.

Earlier in the night, Jack had plugged his operating panel into the neural port when it’d turned out that prying answers from a machine—particularly from a rival megacorporation’s brand—wasn’t as simple as bodily threatening someone. In a fit of frustration, when he’d threatened to dismantle the android if he couldn’t get his answers, it’d also turned out demanding answers was pointless. Constrained by its programming, the machine couldn’t even give any further information. Thusly, two other computers were added to assist him long into the night, launching multiple hacking programs he’d coded to crack the hashes.

As punishment, Jack’s back was screaming from being hunched over the display panel for what felt to him like hours on end. Fingers that’d been coarsened over the years from welding machines—also scarred by many close encounters—were a flurry of activity over the keyboard projected onto his workbench, as he typed out the rest of the script into the console commands. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the wristwatch and the tribal tattoo on Jack’s wrists gleamed whenever they caught the glare of light.

Reoutfitted from a basement and into a lab of sorts, hundreds of sticky notes overran the walls like square patches, each scrawled with nearly illegible handwriting and accompanying the Polaroids and wanted posters. Nearly all the subjects’ faces had been scratched out by a sharp object, with the occasional pushpins puncturing through where the eyes were supposed to be. Outliers to the cacophony were photo composites of two women—both brunettes with sizeable bounties on their heads—one marked with a circle around her face and another with hearts drawn around her computer generated image.

To compensate for the lack of windows, aside from the glow of the monitors and the keyboard, a table lamp had been activated. The lamp illuminated only a small portion of the workbench, its light bulb like a tiny ball of light that played against the holographic model of the galaxy projected up to the ceiling in a conical shape. Star constellations were a sea of white dots, with color-coded graphics labeling the trustworthiness of Jack’s contacts and resources at different planets.  

Long ago, when planetary colonization was a widespread movement and central governments lost influence during the Last Corporate War, there existed a five-acre parcel that’d sat indefinitely in real estate until Maxim Turner—whom later founded Hyperion Corporation and laid the foundations for its rise into the corporate superpower it was today—had snatched it from the intergalactic market.

Out of all the properties visited, that empty lot over a cliff-side held the greatest potential to showcase the entrepreneur’s wealth as well as his legacy. In a matter of time, a team of architects, engineers, general contractors, and interior designers had been commissioned to construct Turner’s dream turbomansion with the advice of building an artificial gravity system and eventually installing a forcefield generator at the behest of Lawrence de Quidt.

Heavily inspired by the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright, from the exterior the turbomansion was an indulgence in contemporary design, from its overall cantilevered design to its sculptural lunar crest form language. Originally designed with no restraints, the mansion quietly overlooked the space station that served as Hyperion’s base of operations. Orbiting Elpis and Pandora, the Helios moonbase was one of the first significant projects given to Jack by the executive board when it had been under construction.

At the project’s completion, eventually the land deeds transferred over to Harold Tassiter—Hyperion’s CEO before Handsome Jack’s corporate takeover—who’d purchased it, and remodeled it with better security functions, state-of-the-art SMART tech, and his own design aesthetic. The grooves in the metal plates making up the walls harkened back to the decorative wall moldings of classical architecture.  

In the foyer, Jack had kept the holographic portraits of the three founders—Turner, Lawrence de Quidt, and the sniper and weapon designer Alma Harren with her grumpy white Persian cat. All identifying personal effects—portraits, tapestries, furniture and fixtures with Tassiter’s favorite color palette of burgundies and grays—were either kept or have long been sold in a garage sale once Jack got his hands on the deeds. That was Jack’s final act of revenge against his former employer. The rest of the furnishings, for the rooms that only Jack could access, had been altered for a practical, industrial atmosphere.

Hydraulic arms hung from the grid system above. Screwdrivers with different flatheads and screws like fine needles were strewn across the aluminum surface of the bench. Somewhere among the mess was a scalpel, a soldering iron, and tweezers salvaged from the built-in shelves. Energy drinks—long devoid of their potent liquid contents—congested the remaining free space, with packaging so deliberately vibrant, the cans nearly glowed. Joining them was a mug containing a concoction of coffee and brandy, perched precariously at the very edge of the workbench. A picture frame was also turned around so that the holographic photograph was facing away from him.

Unlike hours prior, Jack was now mumbling to himself, observing one of the data sequences returned from the commands inputted into his display panel. Plugged into a universal charger and hibernating, Rhys appeared much like a corpse on a gurney, divested of its clothing. The lamplight gave it the illusion of bleached skin, diminishing the layers of intricate airbrushing that’d been done in the faux-subdermal layer and the external shell to give the flesh an impression of life.

As manufacturers had learned early on, sales were impacted when target demographics regarded prototypes as eerie and repulsive, influenced by the effects of the Uncanny Valley phenomenon. It was an emotional response experienced by every person, and every company recognized that as their barrier to entry in the AI industry. In order to breach that frontier, they had two opportunities.

Hyperion, like most companies, settled on the first solution: purposely distinguishing machine from human, valuing function over photorealism. Designs often entailed clunkier and crude designs like loaders, constructor bots, CL4P-TPs, surveyors, and other robotic models.

The second option—which proved to be more arduous to accomplish until the latter half of the last century—was to create convincing models virtually indistinguishable from their organic counterparts. When the first official scientific breakthrough came trickling in and had garnered public approval, learning from the successes of other business models, Atlas Corporation soon established their dominance in the service industry with their innovations. The Atlas product line of androids teetered on the fine edge between violating learned perceptions of human behavior and evoking a positive emotional response. 

Therefore, upon first examination, Jack hadn’t been surprised what he’d seen during his precursory inspection.

For a companion android of superior Atlas quality, the skin job was nearly seamless. It’d taken much trial and error before Jack realized there were grooves snaking alongside Rhys’ ribcage, which had been camouflaged into the tattoos from the neck down to below the collarbone. There was also a control panel installed below the cranium of every standard android, but even thinking about taking a handheld laser to that synthetic hair and slicing through the silicone layers underneath made Jack dither at the thought of damaging a rare acquisition.

Unless designed to serve as a pleasure bot—which often required detailed imitations of anatomy for the user to suspend disbelief—without need of biology or reproduction, androids with combat, domestic, or companion artificial intelligence were manufactured like mannequins—missing genitalia. The cost of outfitting automatons with the desired sex toys and apparatuses, while reskinning them to enhance the immersion, could be exorbitant. Even for cosmetic attachments, to mass produce automatons in an assembly line, roboticists had to pick and choose what’d serve their desired functions. Unnecessary expenses were cut back.

At this point, the decryption software had already bypassed the firewall. Jack briefly passed another glance at the android. Unable to bear with the robotic voice, he’d ordered Rhys to be on standby. Having heard what the scientist sounded like in several of his audio logs, the robot’s default voice sounded synthesized and dispassionate in comparison.

Jack sucked on his teeth, contemplative.

Acrylic optics were blankly staring ahead at the ceiling, with a rings of light circling between both the heterochromatic irises and around the pupils. That light display was to demonstrate that the artificial intelligence interface was still functioning in optimal capability. Aside from that, Rhys appeared eerily human—albeit like a man having undergone human augmentation, having installed a cybernetic arm and eye.

Feeling goosebumps arise on his arms, Jack looked away, refocusing on the data displayed from the android’s mainframe. “Take three, jackhole,” he told it. “Don’t fuck up on me this time. You’re becoming more trouble than I’d bargained for.”

Last login: Fri Nov 17 02:52:18 on haroldt001

ka: - pablos5 python

Python 2.6.1 (r/61:67515, Jan 20 2845, 15:17:29)

[GCC 4.2.1 (Atlas Corp. build 5646)] on Promethea

Type “help”, “copyright”, “credits” or “license” for more information.

>>> import hailtothekingbaby.exe

\ suck my dick… **|**

One of his hands had closed into a fist, his knuckles rapping a drumbeat against the workbench as he waited for the console command to process his script. Reaching out to grasp the handle of his mug, he took a sip of its lukewarm contents.

“ _You’re listening to ‘This Just In!’—live from the Arid Nexus in Pandora_.” Jack heard the radio host announce, drawing his attention.  _“This is Hunter Hellquist, of Hyperion Truth Broadcasting, and do we have two special guests with us today! Stay tuned, everyone._ _But first, in other news, lead Eridium and Vault researcher, scientist, and archaeologist Patricia Tannis still has not been found. Hide your loved ones—your puppies and your baby kittens. Store your belongings, and buy the biggest Hyperion gun you can find. Sources say her last known appearance was in New Haven, where bandit leader Roland was captured on live TV shooting innocent—_!”

_“Bzzzzzt.”_

Jack’s blood ran cold once he realized the static didn’t come from the broadcast. Eyes wide, he glanced down.

All three screens—his two computers and his display panel—had flickered to black. What’d emerged was a textbox in bold, yellow typeface stating:

ACCESS DENIED

He inhaled sharply, slamming his mug down.

Before Jack could hasten to prevent being thrown out of the database, Rhys’ mouth moved. “Access failed,” the automated voice alerted Jack pleasantly. “Multiple instances of a security breach by unauthorized personnel have been detected. Forced system lockdown.”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Don’t do this to me!” His fingers flew across the keyboard, disabling current system scans and closing applications. Various reprogramming subroutines were executed while he attempted to reconfigure the settings on the operating system. He opened the Application Control log, skimming the icons. His IP was untraceable, but he couldn’t afford to have a system memory wipeout if the application’s blacklist registered the activities that his digital presence triggered as an unknown security threat.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he chanted, mashing the expand icons, revealing all the hidden branches.

When the whitelist—Atlas’ database of authorized digital fingerprints—popped up, he heard Rhys say: “If this message has been received in error, please contact customer service for further assistance. Our operating hours are from….”

Just as Jack smashed his finger against one of the fingerprints, the yellow notification distorted, eventually vanishing just as the light in Rhys’ optics abruptly dimmed.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

All three screens displayed an ERROR message, with an icon depicting an exclamation mark inside a triangular outline to its side. Underneath the message was a string of tiny translations scrolling sideways. The text was occasionally glitching—wavering and distorting like the word was being jerked into two directions—fading out of and into existence.

The aggravated, guttural howl that ensued was nothing short of inhumane as Jack gripped fistfuls of his hair. Underneath his hands, the strands were hardened, solidified stalks from the pomade. His elbows dropped down onto the workbench.

A fist slammed down, the action rattling the contents on the aluminum surface. He exhaled once.

Then, in a giant sweeping motion, he shoved all immediate objects off the table. Documents crashed into the modular furnishings in the vicinity. The ceramic mug shattered to pieces, just as the hard drives, tools, and empty cans clattered down against the floor. Several items were still careening across the industrial-grade metal plates.

He cursed again. “Sonuvabitch. Son. Of. A. Bitch.”

The sound of a can crunched underneath him as he staggered back. Jack floundered blindly for his rolling chair, a foot bumping against one of the wheels. Hooking a foot around the leg of the chair and moving it closer, he collapsed into the seat. His thoughts were incoherent with rage.

Soon, he couldn’t even speak. Sprawling down the seat, in a matter of minutes, he had migrated his face into his hands.

His hands stank of metal and of the anti-rust lubricant used to oil a machine’s joints. His mouth also tasted of plastic—from the synthetically grafted mask pushed against his lips.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, unbeknownst to him, a slot in one of the computers had slid up now that the commotion had settled. A robot of three inches swerved out. Where its motion-detection system was supposed to be, the design of it made the robot’s large optics appear like square spectacles. The acrylic lenses were devised as a buffer to protect its internal camera. Similar to the boxy frames holding the optics in place, the rest of its body was a 3D-printed box and a singular roller where wheels were supposed to go.

The robot processed the scene before it, its optics tilting inquisitively at its owner. As if being drawn by a magnetic force, it stared for the longest time at the strange android charging on its owner’s workbench. Once a prompt pinged onto its AI interface, the robot rotated its body around. It began seeking for extension cables to descend onto the floor.

Jack exhaled noisily once more.

Although he’d deliberated for a lengthy amount of time, he still didn’t know why the term “Gortys” struck familiarity. He remembered passing his gaze over to his trophy case in his office when Rhys struggled to answer all the questions it could. (The android had been more forthcoming about Vasquez, but even that line of questioning went nowhere.) Behind the reinforced glass, as a collector of relics and artifacts, alongside a stock certificate authenticating his shares over Atlas, Jack remembered having one day walked into Atlas’— _his_ —lab and having noticed a U-shaped projector that could fit into his palm.

It had been a miniscule thing compared to the other projects—a machine from an unfinished venture—but he’d thought the device would look pretty with his other acquisitions. Upon activation, the machine projected the blue hologram of a planet.

He’d explained similarly when Rhys, inquisitive about its owner’s hobbies, had followed Jack’s line of sight. Boasting about his collection to an interested audience, although flattering, had nearly distracted him from his other task.

Searching for a Rhys, Felix, Yvette, and a Chief Scientist with the syllables “Cass-i Le-cle-ma” in his or her name had returned with no results on the old database, which he’d found to be suspicious. Even digging up their list of employees showed no indication that any of those individuals once worked for Atlas. Without surnames, looking them up on the ECHOnet proved to be an endeavor. He’d scoured family registries, but without a timeframe and planet of citizenship to narrow down his search, hundreds of thousands of identities emerged.

Armed with only the scientist’s renders, he’d quickly coded a program to narrow down the results using a facial recognition sequence. But even that would take some time. There was no guarantee of any result if Rhys turned out to be a recluse who’d never attended corporate public relations activities, avidly avoiding having his picture taken at promotional events or avoiding publicity in general. 

This investigation would require a lot of time commitment—which he wasn’t sure he wanted to invest in if he wasted his time. Consequently, leaving the mystery unanswered didn’t sit well with Jack. Like he’d told Rhys earlier before the hibernation, it was a “catch-22 situation.”

“ _Ladies and gentlemen, don’t tune out now_ ,” Hunter Hellquist remarked, his distinctively gruff twang breaking into Jack’s train of thinking. “ _We will be hearing Baroness Aurelia Hammerlock’s thoughts later about what she thinks about being taken off the Hyperion bounty board, her single status, and her prize winning hunting trophies. Rumor has it she’s hunting down an unusual specimen this time. But first, his heart is a thumpin' gizzard. He’s a Pandoran running an Emporium of Curiosities in Oasis. Give it up for Mr. Shade! …Mr. Shade? …Mr. Shade, you’re on air. That’s your cue. If you’d please stop staring at the Baroness through the window?_ ”

“ _My, oh my. Sorry. It’s just, I haven’t seen such strapping threshers like yourself in ages. I got ahead of myself there._ ” He laughed. The sound of lips smacking resounded from the newscast.

A spike of pain flared in Jack’s brain, leaving behind the aftereffects of a throbbing migraine. Groaning into his palm, he groused, “I hate myself.”

“ _Actually, it’s called the World of Curiosities. My grandpappy, he's the one who came up with this place. And it’s not in Oasis. It’s in Prosperity Junction. Nice town, if you ignore the group of bandits led by Rudiger._ ” Shade’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper: “ _Watch out._ _Everyone knows_ _he has beef with Hyperion_ _. He has a gun._ ”

 _"Uh, there we have it, everyone. We heard it from Mr. Shade; Rudiger is a terrorist. Hyperion thanks you for your testimony.”_ The radio host cleared his throat. “ _Now then, rumor has it….”_

 _“—If you want to buy anything strange or illegal, we are the place to go! Don’t check out our competition. We are the competition! We have a notable size of wildlife taxidermy and people from all over the galaxy. My collection will just make your heart stop!"_  A rustling of papers could be heard, like they’d been unloaded onto a hard surface.  _“Everyone’s welcome to come in! You can even stay permanently. I’d like that.”_

 _“…Thank you for the adverts, Mr. Shade. They’ll join the rest.”_  Papers were crinkled.  _“No, what I was going to say was that a little skag told me you were going through renovation after it’d been ransacked. Could you tell our local listeners in Opportunity a little about that? …Mr. Shade? Mr. Shade, what’s so funny—Mr. Shade, are you crying?”_

 _"I—I’m not crying.”_ The emotion in his voice betrayed him, sounding thick and nasally.

Jack exhaled again. He was certain his ECHOpad was somewhere on the floor, but he couldn’t be bothered to look for it. Picking his head up, he surveyed the mess he’d caused. His expression moved into a deeper grimace once his eyes passed over his workbench. The ERROR message on his computers taunted him.

While he was staring in the direction of his android, he noticed movement from his peripheral vision. Swiveling his head, he caught sight of his financial bot attempting to clear the mess like a miniature bulldozer. Seeing it struggle against the heavy load made Jack break out of his self-imposed funk. Putting his arms behind him, he shoved himself up. The chair went rolling behind him as he circumnavigated around the chaos.

“You’re only supposed to do my taxes, four-eyes,” he rebuked, gingerly pinching the robot by its neck. Its robotic arms were flailing, reaching for the mound of junk it’d abandoned. He’d been careful not to flick the switch that’d reactivate the robot’s installed voice package. “Don’t do this again. I will recycle you for scrap metal next time.”

He marched forward.

Although the lights in Rhys’ optics had gone out, the tattoos on its chest seemed to emit a glow of its own. It could simply be a trick of the light, but it could also be that region was of an opaque material. Jack could attribute the latter to its internal power core, with the possibility of the android being charged by a nuclear reactor. It could also be the fluid that ran within Rhys much like blood would for a human—except the electrolytes in the solution would be used to extend the life of any batteries charging it.

Without opening it up, Jack had no basis for his assumptions besides rudimentary knowledge about the engineering standards for machines—particularly for those powered by artificial intelligence—that were designed to be as lifelike as possible. Air was nosily sucked into his mouth as Jack considered the slightly lighter hue that one of the six teardrop tattoos was, compared to the rest.

Eyeing the Atlas machine, he grunted the android’s name. His brows creasing, even when he called for it to answer his commands, Jack was puzzled when it remained unresponsive this time. Jack set the smaller robot back down on the table near his personal computer.

The robot drooped upon landing, dejected. Processing the newest development, instead of going back into its slot, it wheeled over to its owner and to the unresponsive android. Given its low sense of gravity, it was surprisingly agile.

Hunching over the workbench, Jack lightly smacked Rhys’ cheek. (He would have to wash its hair soon.) He prompted again, “Can you hear me? Rhys? I said, reboot your memory to the last save file.”

There was no response. Even pressing the ON/OFF button did nothing this time.

Realization dawned. “Fuck you in the gloryhole,” he breathed, “did you crash?”

Still, no response.

“Balls.” His expression warped into a scowl. “Tonight couldn’t end up any better.” He kicked the leg of the workbench half-heartedly, the impact jostling the table. Although he’d been sorely tempted to shoot Rhys in the face the second time he’d been locked out, this time Jack couldn’t even find it within himself to remain livid at it. All ill will was directed at the team that’d worked on the prototype.

At arrival, analyzing the foreign machine, the financial robot imitated its owner’s gestures—this time poking Rhys’ by the cheekbone. Jack had turned his head when the robot’s appendage made contact with the synthetic flesh.

As if an electric current streaked down its backside, the smaller robot became motionless.

Before it could give Jack cause for alarm, the optics flickered once. A string of binary code—01000010 01110010 01101111—ran across its lenses, sometimes like it would to communicate Jack’s projected earnings and simulating computations. Before Jack had the time to fully decipher them into letters, the numbers faded into a pair of upside down arches. It went to pat Rhys’ cheek several times.

Watching the scene unfold, Jack settled back on his feet. He scrutinized the smaller robot.

To this day, he wasn’t entirely sure why he still kept it, but he got some satisfaction owning a product that made his life a little more convenient. Soon, Jack’s gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to the suggestion of dips and indentions on the android’s chest, and he frowned at the visual distinction between Atlas’ models of sleekness versus a competitor’s simplicities.

He remembered ordering the smaller robot from the ECHOnet market during his programmer years. Affiliated with various megacorporations, at the height of their popularity, that product line had been the company’s only claim to fame before shareholders approved the merger with their highest bidder—which, at the time, had been a bidding war between Atlas and Dahl. Although the design wasn’t as sexy as its competitors, it’d been installed with a sophisticated, efficient accounting AI from a small-time robotics company which specialized in a production line of accounting-aid units. The most that’d been done to the one Jack had was a customization option to have two triangle graphics chromatech printed onto it, representing a bow-tie.

The robot was still doing loops around Rhys’ head when Jack commanded, “C’mere.” He crooked a finger at it. When the robot wheeled over, Jack’s fingers closed around a permanent marker nearby. His other palm went to sweep the robot up into the air. He warned, “Don’t move.”

Uncapping the marker, he drew three horizontal lines, each evenly spaced out on its chest-plate. Then a line was dragged down the middle, bisecting them. Holding the robot away from him and squinting at his doodle, once he felt his mouth move into a smirk by what he saw, Jack set his accountant back down on the table. “There. Upgraded. You like?”

The robot was analyzing the six-pack drawn onto it. It looked up at Jack. Staring momentarily at him, its optics soon displayed the same arches it’d shown Rhys.

Jack guffawed to himself, his smirk becoming broader. “Definite improvement.” His hand behind him landed on a cool surface, and he could feel his demeanor changing once he realized what was under his palm. His mood instantly plummeted.

Without looking, his movements were jerky when he lifted the handheld device behind him and up to his vision. Hitching a hip over the edge of the workbench, he maneuvered himself onto the surface. He was peering down at the subject of the photograph—it was a stock footage of a woman in her twenties, with long dark hair billowing in the desert winds.

Indecision was rearing its ugly head as he watched the photo loop through the animation.

The footage zoomed in onto the woman’s face, panning across her impossibly bright blue irises and the black eyeliner applied around the eyes. She was stuck in a cycle of blinking and smiling, blinking and smiling at the invisible cameraman.

On the bottom of the device were three translucent switch buttons, keyed to his biosignature. Once pressed, the left one would establish communication with her via satellite uplink. The middle switch would allow fast travel over to her whereabouts. The last one was for scrolling through security functions. His thumb hovered over one of them. All the tension in his body felt focused in his shoulders and in that singular finger. Cold air was expelled through the holes in Jack’s mask, in the area for oxygen to pass through his nostrils.

Perhaps to all except one, Jack could make the argument that he was ranked among the unofficial best in the field of programming. Against her though, in a few years, his skills could justifiably be surpassed. From a young age, she demonstrated an uncanny aptitude for technology. Jack passed another cursory glance over the automaton hibernating on the workbench.

“ _Lemme get you more tissues,_ ” Hunter was saying to Shade. There was a clattering noise transmitted from the speakers of his ECHOpad, and the sound of fragile material being ripped from a box was loud. “ _…Take as much as you need._ ”

 _“You’re a gentleman. Thank you. Thank you.”_ Shade blew his nose loudly. _“Apologies…for the unsightly display. But…it’s true. Looters came to rob me of my—we are the best taxidermy…collection in the galaxy, after all.”_

_“I believe you.”_

_“You have to…understand…why I’m so upset. I come back one fine evening, and I—I find my emporium…in…in…shambles. Shambles!”_ His voice having choked up, Shade hiccupped and blew his nose again. _“I have photographic evidence!”_

 _“Uh.”_  The radio host sounded nervous.  _“No, I think I’m fine, Mr. Shade—”_

 _“Look at Bewm!”_ A _skrcccch_ reverberated through the audio, as if a table had been shoved forward as someone hurled themselves over the table. Puffs of air were breathing in and out deafeningly, close to the microphone. _“Look at…look at how he’s in…pieces. He’s been…look, he’s decapitated! Do you know…how long it took me…to stuff him?”_

_“I-I see. Urk. I think—ugh—that’s enough for today. Let’s move onto our next—”_

Breezily bypassing the nauseated noises the radio host emitted, Shade blathered, _“Those thieves stole my newest acquisition. Still alive, when I found her. She was…going to be…a beauty of taxidermy. Even with the ghastly hole…in her midriff. She was…”_ He sniffled. _“…the loveliest cyborg. Going to be the…loveliest. Until she…until she was taken.”_

 _“Blerg. A-and that’s all the time we have.”_ His voice was strained and higher-pitched. “ _You’re listening to ‘This Just In!’ from Hyperion Truth Broadcasting, where we provide all the opportunities for rich, fame, and glory. Remember, the Hyperion Corporation’s where it’s at. Don’t go now. Here’s today’s popular classics.”_

Just as the music filtered in—with what sounded like a track of cracking thunder and gravel crunching underneath somebody’s shoes, juxtaposed against the melody of a guitar strumming along to the drummer—Jack heard Hunter Hellquist cry for the baroness to come in. The radio host’s pleas were muffled, made at a distance away from the microphone.

The singer was warbling about someplace or other of not needing heroes, as Jack reflected on the dilemma before him. He could envision all the possible routes that he could take. It was like being lost in a forest.

All the important decisions that could be made diverged into smaller branches, with their own never-ending benefits and consequences. The easiest decision would be recognizing that he now had a broken robot, putting it behind a glass case, and just accepting that it came with an enigmatic backstory he couldn’t unravel. Other avenues necessitated the involvement of external forces.

Unease crept up his throat. His hands clenched, fingertips white against the glass of the handheld device.

Consumed by his contemplations, he found himself staring down at Rhys once more. The android’s gaze was still fixed up at the ceiling. Without much thought to his actions, his knuckles stroked over Rhys' cheek, gliding across the unnaturally smooth plane of its synthetic skin. For a man of Rhys' age, usually there would be stubble along the jawline and above the mouth. The silicone material felt like the material grafted onto Jack's face. 

Belatedly realizing what he was doing, eventually a large hand went to cover the acrylic optics. Feeling the fine but coarse lashes against his skin, Jack dragged the pair of eyelids down. 

Despite the bleakness of his thoughts, Jack felt his mouth budge into a half-crescent moon. The recording from the audio logs was still fresh in Jack’s mind. Jack wasn’t too far gone that he couldn’t feel sympathy for this stranger that once worked for Atlas—sympathy for landing in whatever predicament that it was, to have pushed a man to make those recordings.

The real Rhys’ voice and personality sounded…remarkably human, like a man who had his life and his fair share of problems. A voice that was limpid and melancholic, liquid in the way that it curled around the nerve endings.

His hand withdrew. Ignoring that the android’s chest was unnaturally still—missing the steady rise and fall—Jack could almost see the scientist that this unit had been modeled after. Were Jack a poetic man, he might have attributed that to the soul lingering underneath the physical likeliness of one of its creators—manifested in one corrupted package that had yet to be installed. Whoever the scientist was or had been, he was now immortalized in his creation.

 _His creation that was now in Jack's clutches_. Shifting his eyes over, Jack peered down at his accountant. Snapping his fingers—once, twice—to get its attention, he asked, “What do you think?” He angled the device downward so that it could also see whom he was gazing at.

It looked at the woman depicted, tilted its head, and it looked back up at Jack inquisitively. Its spectacle-like optics were a pair of glowing squares.

“You’re no help,” he remarked. Turning the handheld device over, he set it on the workbench. Face-down.

His feet landed back on floor with loud thumps. Stretching his arms over his head, he strained his back until he heard a crack. He groaned. “I’m going to have to do this. Son of a taint.”

* * *

From the vantage point of any orbiting spacecraft, a swath of rain clouds could be seen swirling over the brown planet—obscuring the odd circular formations perpetually glowing with an eerie sheen in the galaxy. The lunar distance between Elpis and Pandora measured to approximately a quarter of a million miles—requiring less than three days in a transplanetary shuttle to reach Pandora. Avoiding the trip around Elpis’ orbit, the shortest trip was eight hours from the nearest moonbase. 

Were one to fly over the surface of Pandora, the landscape outside could be summarized as a barren wasteland of mountainous, coastal, and desert regions. It wasn’t a surprise to see a hail of bullets or a pack of skags—armored quadrupeds with an extraterrestrial appearance and a craggy membrane—stampeding, kicking up a dust storm and ravenous for fresh meat. Violence and basic survival skills were needed to adapt to life on that planet full of aggressive creatures and fauna.

However, as a result of the forecast, activity levels were on the lower side than usual, with most human or creature inhabitants having ducked into their choice of shelter, huddled up to a source of warmth. Droplets pelted the earth and manmade rooftops, scattering into smaller pebbles of water upon impact.

Up in the Highlands region, there was an area christened as “Thousand Cuts,” home to other eccentrically-named landmarks such as Bloody Knuckle Point, No Man’s Land, and Broke Face Bridge—a transportation system which connected Buzzard Factory to the Slab Town ruled with an iron fist by a gang of bandits. The Slab gang and Hyperion had long worked out a truce. So long as they kept out of each other’s business, their respective territories were left alone. Tonight, the bandits were carousing indoors. Windows were bright patches of light, seen from the outside.

To venture into Hyperion’s base of operations meant traveling beyond the wreckages of No Man's Land, which also meant encountering the forcefield meant to atomize organic beings at the security gate, itself glowing red and fizzling with energy. The raindrops that came into contact with the forcefield instantly evaporated, causing steam to arise and waft up into the sky. Coming up the hill, if one were allowed access past the tall twin doors, they would see a high spire of rocks piercing the clouds, with a waterfall located at the topmost of a cylindrical control core, with water falling off the sides and off the ivy that naturally grew in the crevices.

The rocky ascent supported vast white architecture which locals whispered underneath their breaths, calling it “the Bunker” for its highly-defended fortification. Automated gun turrets, combat robots—surveyors, loaders, and constructors—and Hyperion soldiers, and several auto-cannons made up a few of the armaments that protected the premises.

Large, hexagonal plates were affixed into the ground, mounted over each other like the scales of a dragon, forming into natural steps and platforms. Bypassing another forcefield, reaching the control core, one would have to stand over the Hyperion emblem chromateched onto the elevator floor, undergoing the automated process of an AI program verifying the individual’s biosignature and activating the password-sensitive voice recognition software.

Taking the elevator down the shaft, one would then arrive at a seemingly empty room with only a switch to press in the center of the room. Very few knew the truth—that it was a simulated virtual reality which hid twin metal doors spanning the height of the ceiling, which required an automated piston system to slide them open due to their sheer weight.

The interior of the antechamber within was illuminated with a purple sheen from the exposed pipe system and injectors overhead—each glowing with a purple fluid. And at the very center, suspended high in the air was a young woman seemingly on the cusp of adulthood, her arms and legs in a lax position. Tattoo-like birthmarks flowed up her left arm and shoulder like white bioluminescent circuits, illuminating and casting severe shadows under the planes of her face.

A bright beam was being shot through her from the injectors above to the module below, connecting her from head-to-toe like a puppeteer’s string, and revolving around her figure like a carousel.

Surrounding her, machines—with their nuts and bolts Frankenstein-ed together—hovered in the perimeter, making their rounds and making the occasional grunt. Stationary from neck down, their perpetually revolving heads were affixed with rods which sparked with voltage between the two ends here and then.

They orbited below the ring of projection screens that’d been affixed into the walls.

Currently the woman was staring at a window. It levitated before her like a small rectangular box, with the digital pixels and circuits floating around her in the simulation. Two clasps were attached into the right side of her skull, where the hair had been shaved. Instead, what little hair she had left was parted to the left, obscuring her eye and falling past her chin in a short ponytail.

Her mouth was curved in an absent smile. Her visible blue eye was taking in the still image of another young woman—except she was redheaded, with goggles perched over her twin pigtails. Looking at the holographic GUI, she touched her own neck, where her choker was less of a decorative choice than the one the woman on the screen wore in her profile picture.

On the right of the projection was the woman’s ECHOname and the audio track of her recent live transmission.

The woman was exclaiming breathlessly, _“But yeah, thank you, my faithful five subscribers—hah, faithful five…four now…. But yeah, anywho, thanks for sticking with me this long! I can’t wait to tell you what Marcie says tomorrow when she realizes that I’m better than her circle-jerk of paid off bourgeoisie jerkbags. Professor Hardison told me Marcie’s dad already paid off the judges for the Eden-5 Youth Science Fair. Her dad’s also hired engineers to work on a mini thermosonic energy reactor and pass it off as her own! Pfffffft. Do you believe the amount of corruption we’re dealing with here? So you know what? No, thank you! I think my project’s more qualified than her dumb turboencabulator. There’s the galaxy fair coming up. Now, my application isn’t exactly approved yet, but—”_

“ _Gaige, sweetheart._ ” A man could be overhead the transmission. His voice grew louder when the door creaked open: _“I know you’re excited, but could you take it down a notch? Your mom and I are watching a show.”_

 _“…Excuse me for one moment.”_ A chair was skidded back. Footsteps was recorded. Her voice became hushed, as if she’d walked away from the voice recorder. Placing the emphasis on several words, she was hissing, _“Dad, I’m ECHOcasting. We’d agreed, when the door is shut, you don’t. Come into. My shed.”_

 _“Gosh, I’m so sorry, honey.”_ Clothing rustled. _“Come inside later when you’re done. Our neighbors came by earlier and gave your mom the guava from their backyard. I’ll have a plate out for you. Then you can work on trouncing the competition.”_

 _“It’s only in the early prototype stages, so I dunno about my chances yet! I’m gonna have to fiddle with the turing chip tonight, and then check in on the prefabulated baseplate tomorrow to see if I can install the core reactor into DT’s chassis!”_ Nonetheless, her voice was bright. Muffled too, as if her face was pressed against a shirt. The grin could be heard in her voice as she said, _“But thanks, dad.”_

 _“My little champion.”_ His voice was gruff but affectionate.

A brief pause. Then, after a few moments, the audio captured the door clicking shut.

With nothing but the sound of running feet, it took less than half a minute before her voice was as loud as it was before. Gaige sounded breathless as she said in a rush, “ _Thank you for listening, subscribing, and I’ll see you later! And don’t forget!”_ Lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, she shared, _“Smash the sys—”_

“—Angel!” Her name boomed out of the speakers, making her ears ring. Abruptly, all six screens turned on. All of them encapsulated in an orange hue, each transmitted Handsome Jack’s head and upper torso. When she brandished her hand over an opened window, extinguishing it instantaneously from existence, his eyes narrowed behind his mask.

Leaning in closer to the screen on his side of the projection, he was frowning down at her. “What were you doing?” The acoustics sounded as if he were speaking into a headset, certain vowels tinny and reverberating.

“Closing a browser. Nothing that important, sir.” Waving her arm, several floating digital pixels expanded into windows to project data from the ECHOnet.

His expression seemed scarcely believing. He’d opened his mouth, just as Angel spun around.  

Apprehension was crawling up her spine. Her eye not once straying away from the windows, she murmured, “I have Intel on the four treasure hunters you wanted me to look into for candidacy.”

She knew what he was staring at. Plastic tubes were attached to the nape of her neck and into the back of her exosuit. They were pumping the mysterious, purple substance into her from the injectors above. He didn’t like seeing the visual; turning her back to him had become one of her most effective methods to muzzle Handsome Jack. Her fingers were restless, accessing traffic and surveillance cameras across various planets.

He remained silent.

The air hummed with an unnatural whirr of machines and charged electricity.

This would be the time he’d recognize his error and cut the transmission. Then in a few hours, he’d contact her again, this time through the audio-only ECHOcom, pretending that the slipup had never happened. Her voice was still soft when she resumed, “Did you hear the ECHO broadcast tonight? Patricia Tannis still hasn’t been found. That means someone else knows about—”

“That’s not what I came to talk to you about,” he interjected brusquely. He’d seen her startle, twisting around to peer up at one of his faces. Her eye was as wide as a dinner plate. Jack said, “I need you to hack something for me.”

Her eyebrows crinkled. It had been difficult to keep herself from voicing the first thoughts that’d filtered into her brain. Instead, she remarked, “It’s not something you can do yourself? …I find that hard to believe.” Her expression was equally skeptical. She embraced herself, her fingers against her arms.

“Annngggeel.” He’d stretched her name out warningly. “What did I say about the sass?”

Before Angel knew what she was doing, she’d already shrugged her shoulders. “I’dunno.” The words came out in a rush, missing the consonants.

“Don’t ‘I’dunno’ me.” He’d mimicked her voice atrociously. The screen suddenly shifted away from him, and all six projections were displaying his workshop. From what the footage was capturing as it panned across the interior, the workshop was dimly illuminated. “You have the—”

“‘—brain the size of a planet,’” she finished, “I know...sir.” Air was sucked into her lungs sharply when she saw a humanoid shape lying immobile on a workbench. Although it was clothed, she could see that its chest was still and unmoving. The android was that of a man quite a few years older than her—maybe by ten years or less.

Taking her muteness for something else, Jack explained, “Angel, this is Rhys. Rhys, meet Angel.” The camera jostled. “Can you believe it, Angel? It’s an exclusive, never before seen in the markets, state-of-the-art android. You know how rare it is to get our hands on Atlas gear? Granted, I had to coerce someone else to give it up, but hey. Least he got money out of it. Man, am I lucky or what!”

Her gaze was penetrating. So intense was her fixation, Jack’s words were drowned out by her thoughts, his voice becoming an unintelligible buzz in her mind. Her right hand clenched and unclenched, tingling where her birthmarks were.

“This roomba came equipped an audio-and-personality package of one of the scientists that’d worked on it. I don’t have all the audio logs downloaded into my ID chip, but I’m testing what program it was able to give me and seeing if installing it will crash my computer. So far, I’m not picking up on anything unusual…ish. Which is weird because that package I was telling you about is corrupted.”

She could see that various extensions had been plugged into available ports on the cybernetic arm and the side of its temple, hooked up to Jack’s computers and display panel. The camera couldn’t capture the programs running on the screens though, showing only glowing orange rectangles to her.

“...ngel? ANGEL!” Jack’s voice had become a shout at the end. By the time her head jerked, the camera was concentrated on his mask again. He demanded, “Did you hear what I said?”

Her heart was thudding erratically against her breasts. In a level voice, she hedged, “You’re the one who’s said—for the mysterious ones—‘nine times out of ten, there’s nothing actually special about them.’”

“That’s what I said about people. Not mechs. Slow your roll, sister.” He’d waved his hand through the air like blowing away a puff of smoke. Whatever Jack was using to transmit the recording was set down at an angle that captured both him and Rhys. “This is why I need you. See, I ran into complications. Turns out I bought faulty hardware.” He left the camera’s field of vision momentarily.

Cans were crunching underneath his weight. Then she heard wheels rolling across the floor. Jack sounded distant as he divulged, “Long story short, that scientist left me with a helluva cryptic message. And you know what all my research has surmounted to?” His voice climbed. “Nada. _Zilch._ Nothing!”

Angel gnawed on her lower lip. Her gaze was once again being drawn to the left of the transmission. On the surface, his request to her this time was for something that did not involve Pandora, Vaults, or making her an accessory to murder by aiding and abiding by his homicidal schemes. She spoke haltingly, “What do you…want me to do? I can’t… I can’t hack into it…not if he’s disconnected from the ECHO server.”

“Yeah, no. It’s connected. I’d even accessed Atlas’ old computer grid. Problem is, I’m locked out of Rhys’ systems. It doesn’t recognize me as its owner. I even tried manually resetting it, and turning it on and off. Y’see, nothing works.”

“You have Atlas’ master key. You can disable the security features, sir.”

“You think I have—” The chuckle lasted for only a few seconds. “That’s cute. If it’s as easy as you say, I wouldn’t be bringing this to you. So therein lies _my_ problem.” Jack had migrated his chair over, sitting down. Even from that angle, Angel could see the ugly scowl marring his mask now. “I don’t have the master key to override all the passcodes and passwords. Apparently I’m not authorized to access information. _For a company I own_. If I don’t get to the bottom of this, Angel, this’ll keep me up at night for the rest of my life.”

Angel wasn’t as surprised as she should be. Atlas Corporation saw Handsome Jack as a tyrant. When he’d bought the shares, Angel recalled having seen chatroom logs of various Atlas personnel cursing his name. Therein existed a cesspool of bitterness. Atlas products were predisposed to dislike Handsome Jack. And anything Hyperion-related.

“So you came to me…evidentially because you think I can do something about it.”

The image of Jack’s finger was large on the screens. “Don’t give me that. You’re a Siren with powers over AI. The sky’s the limit for you.”

Withdrawing his hand, Jack was peering down at her. She could see his glower had lessened upon seeing the uncertainty on her features.

He wheedled, “Angel, honey, I've got nowhere else to go. Help me on this. We’re both programming geniuses. And two heads are better than one. Normally this data mining gig and decryption would be a months-job, tops. I need someone I trust to open a back door in its software. And guess what?” He raised his hands to the screen, imitating finger guns. They were pointing to her from all six screens. “That ‘someone’ is you.”

Her eye went to the grating on the floor. Angel could see her feet and not for the last time, she wished that she had purchase underneath her. The hair over her left eye felt like a heavy weight against her face. She swallowed.

Her fingers had drawn circuits into existence, and she was watching as they formed into multiple windows. An infinite loop of numerical codes were being tested against the existing firewall. “You have the network adapter in your workshop, right? If you install it, I can hack into his interface. I’ll try to access him remotely.”

“That’s my girl! I knew I could count on you! Uh, I’d thought it’d turn out this way so…it’s already been installed. It’s all on you now.”

Angel didn’t have to lift her head to envision the expression on his mask. Unperturbed by his euphoria, she remarked unenthusiastically, “Emphasis on the word ‘try.’ It’ll be more…difficult than having direct access into his systems. Do you have his serial number?”

“I can only give you a partial. Wait. Lemme read it to you.” Reaching across, he gave a winded grunt as he attempted to turn Rhys over to its side. Upon managing it, more strands of his hair were seen plastered to the exposed part of Jack’s forehead as he lifted the yellow cybernetic arm up to his mask.

Angel inputted the sequence into the system while Jack recited the sequence to her.

“I’m sending you the codes too,” Jack declared afterwards. Still holding onto Rhys, his other hand fumbled for his ECHOpad. “And the key. I don’t know how much help they’ll give you—because I got forced logout—but see if they’ll give you a shortcut. Pretend to be one of the fellas on this whitelist. I know you’re not accustomed to Atlas production lines, so do what you can. I’ll be happy if you can just turn Rhys on.”

In a matter of time, a pop-up notification materialized nearby. Tapping on it, several documents of different numerical passcodes and fingerprints digitalized themselves into reality. Steeling herself, Angel announced, “Executing phase shift.”

Her back and the left side of her body was sweltering—not searing as if she’d burned herself, but more like she’d submerged herself into a bath of hot water. The Eridium in her body amplified her powers, charging her up like a battery. She imagined diving headfirst into the sea, her body evaporating upon contact, before emerging through the other side in an entirely new form. Angel was outfitted in her digital avatar, like a protective membrane stretched thin over her skin.

Thousands of scripts were bombarding her line of sight. Her digital presence was a spear; navigating the data and inserting the correct sequence into holes existing in a program required a surgical precision and finesse.

Jack was saying, “I hope you’re using a fingerprint with the highest clearance from the personnel file. Don’t use mine. Because, apparently, my all-powerfulness does not equate to the highest clearance levels for Atlas.”

“…Firewall bypassed.” Her tone was faraway. The longer she drifted, turning the strings of code blue, the more clarity she regained. “I’ll project my progress onto the screen, so you can follow along.”

With a flick of her wrist, all six monitors had split side-screen. Half of the projection showed Jack what she was seeing in the virtual world. Her avatar—the same stock image of a brunette with long, dark hair and a white sundress—glided through a network of corridors and closed-off doors. Angel herself was an autonomous hacking program; all that was required for activation was her metaphysical embodiment coming into contact with the code.

“Wonderful. Wonderful. Yeah, now this is where your good ol’ dad ran into trouble… _and you’re distracted_. Okay. You do that. I’ll be quiet while you do your thing.”

In reality, the combined light of her birthmarks and the Eridium granted the illusion of thinness to Angel’s face, with the shadow beneath her eye visible like a dark bruise. In her mind’s eye, she could see her avatar floating closer to a sealed door made entirely of data.

She didn’t know why, but the closer she drifted to the representation of Rhys’ software, the more uneasy she felt. It felt like she was being sucked into a vortex. It shouldn’t have been this easy for her to be granted entry, not if a savant like Jack had been blocked. Angel prepared herself to be blindsided by any obstacles coming her way.

“W-what type of artificial intelligence is he?” By now, she had to burn several identities on the whitelist Jack had provided her. The master key, however, seemed to have taken her this far.

“You’re still there?” Jack’s tone was incredulous. Catching himself, he answered, “It said it was a companion android. I think. There was a lot of static returned when I’d asked it questions. I…think it was a combination of censorship and coincidence. Why do you ask?”

“I’dunno. Curiosity?” Angel reached out to the door, nearly snatching her avatar’s hand back when the door disintegrated like granules of black sand. “Crap! I mean, uh, darn. I think…I’m in. Rescind lockdown. Initiate reboot sequence. Recover files.” An empty black chamber awaited her. She bit her lip.

Just as Angel steered her avatar into the cavity, Jack had downturned his head to peer at the android he was still holding up. From Jack’s side of the world, Rhys’ eyelids clicked open. Rings of light were rotating in its optics as it stared up at him. Similarly, the module in Rhys' cybernetic palm glowed to life, emitting a holographic projection.

The ERROR message on his computers wavered before blinking out of existence. Similar to the projection, the text that scrolled on by was instead:

REBOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED...

INITIALIZING... GRAPHICAL USER INTERFACE (GUI)

INITIALIZING... HEADS-UP DISPLAY (HUD)

INITIALIZING... HEALTH DISPLAY MODULE

INITIALIZING... **|**

“Well, don’t you look lovely,” Jack breathed. Turning his head, all six faces were grinning down at her from the screens. “Angel! Baby, you’re a life-saver.”

Although the unexpected praise warmed her head to toe, Angel couldn’t help but mumble something under her breath that Jack easily ignored. He did, however, pay attention when she said, “I know it’ll be weird, but please look into his eyes, sir. Or not. The cameras and motion detection sensors in his optics have to scan you for facial recognition. His systems need time to buffer and process the registration.” Every time she wandered close to a wall, emerging from the darkness, code would glimmer as if she’d shined a light source on them. She murmured, “I wonder what he’s thinking.”

“Y’know, you keep calling it ‘him,’” Jack remarked, “Like it’s alive.”

Angel heard clattering, followed by a grunting noise in the distance. Tools clinked. Judging by the sounds, she could envision that Jack had heaved himself up onto the workbench.

Under a breathier tone, he continued, “The sucker I bought Rhys from used the same pronoun. His name’s Hugo Vasquez, from Securities Propaganda—remember that. You’ve noticed you do that too? …Actually, funny enough, remember the scientist I mentioned?”

“What about the scientist?”

“His name’s also Rhys. Weird, I know. But that’s all I have to go on. If you can? Keep the corrupted files. I kind of need his memories intact…yeah, just don’t delete anything—even if it keeps telling you there’s a virus. That’d be awesome, thanks.”

“These aren’t his memories.” Stretching her hands, like magic, circuits were zapped out of her fingertips, the lines condensing into pixels the further they went away. Watching her feelers whizz away to gather external information for her, she said, “They’re implants—algorithms programmed to simulate the person as close as possible. The audio logs are only to assist the immersion—”

“ _Angel._ ” His tone had turned dark. Once he’d regained her attention, he said, “There’s still a lot of questions I have for it. I can’t find him on old Atlas records. As far as the world is concerned, he did not exist. Same goes for his namesake.” He patted Rhys’ cheek as emphasis.

“That’s highly unlikely,” she objected. “You can’t erase a person from existence. Not when we live in a Digital Age. Even if it’s inconsequential, there has to be a record of him.”

“Yeah, I mean, you’d think the kid would be mentioned in newspaper clippings, made his own embarrassing ECHO logs, won a trophy or third-place, made the news…I don’t know. All I know is that if I ever meet this guy…” His arm tightened around the android like a noose. “…I might choke him.”

Sensing that he was about to go on a tirade, she called out, “Sir—”

“It’s a frustrating feeling when you have _all the tools_ at your disposal. But the goddamned carrot’s still dangling out of my reach. I actually feel mediocre. I want in on this secret.”

“—Dad,” she amended, “why don’t you contact Athena? Or ask the person you’d bought him from? I’m not sure about the latter, but you did work with Athena once. Suffice to say, she was affiliated with Atlas Corporation once. I imagine she’d know something.”

Jack huffed a deprecating laugh.

“I don’t think she…hates you as much as you claim. You told me she saved your life.”

“That's because she was paid. That woman takes pride in her hundred-percent success rate for every job she takes. Even Aurelia and Nisha….” His smile dropping, he fell silent, brooding over whichever memory that had been dredged up.

Angel could only hope that Jack was debating the merits of her idea internally while his gaze was intense on the machine propped up against him. The android’s was down against Jack’s shoulder, its optics focused on Jack’s mask.

In the meantime, she stayed quiet. She eyed a corridor. There was something up ahead. It would be tight, but there was enough space for her to shimmy through. With her hands hovering over the walls, she sucked in her stomach and squeezed in. With each prolonged contact against the data, Angel prayed that her presence wouldn’t be recognized as a virus, and that the hardware wouldn’t launch firewalls and antivirus protection programs to quarantine her.

She squinted, craning her neck as far as it would allow her; up ahead there were what resembled reinforced vault doors like those installed in banks, except they were deceptively afloat and in staggered rows. Each had wheeled handles to grip and rotate, but she doubted that she could access them. The area containing them seemed innocuous, which was telltale for timed traps.

Angel took a quick peek over her shoulder. Jack was still preoccupied.

Angel coiled her finger around a Boolean array, inputting her own script. The bottom edge of the side-screens spasmed, but soon it was as if nothing happened.

In the end, Jack concluded, “Athena may not have backstabbed me like those bandit scum, but she’s still one of them. A Vault Hunter. There’s no need to aggravate her.”

A well of emotions had surged up Angel’s chest like a tidal wave upon hearing that, but she had to squash them down. He’d never listened to her opinion about his vendetta. Resuming her stride, her voice was quiet as she whispered, “They don’t all have to die, Dad….” She was staring ahead at nothing.

“They’re going to pay.” His fingers clenched down on Rhys’ shoulder like a clamp. His knuckles were white against the teal fabric of its clothes. “Every single goddamn one of them on Pandora. Mark my words. Those bandits are going to pay.”

Her shoulders slumped. Angel exhaled, dropping the topic for another time. Jack was absorbed in his rant, looking elsewhere.

“You say that you can’t find him in any records,” Angel said, changing the subject and cutting him off. When she sensed Jack was fixated on her physical body again, she resumed, "Then let’s assume he's a loner. No friends. No significant other. No social life."

His mouth twisted. It took a while for Jack to regulate himself. He was breathing in and out. Then he said, "…See, that's what I find hard to believe.” He was looking down at something in his lap. “For someone with a face like Nakayama, sure. I can see that. But for a guy like Rhys? It's a little hard to swing that past me. I mean, take a look at these renders and tell me this guy doesn't get dates."

In a matter of seconds, Jack had sent her a file, startling Angel when the notification pinged into existence nearby.

Once he saw her avatar squeeze past the walls and back into his line of sight, Jack switched his attention back to her digital body. He declared, "He's a frat boy with expensive tastes. Look at that smidge of smugness on his face. It pisses me off. A man doesn't dress like that unless he thinks he’s got panache." Unbeknownst to Jack, the camera monitoring her virtual progress had been compromised, showing only what she wanted him to see.

A quick peek into the files was enough for her to form an opinion. Her mouth moved into a feeble, twitching mess. They were all renders of a gangly man in professional or dark formal attire. Keeping close to the walls, she managed, "Appearances can be deceiving. Let’s say for argument’s sake, these renders are an idealized fantasy of what he looked like. I mean, no offense, but your avatar on poker websites is a diamond pony. And I look like this. That’s the beauty of the ECHOnet."

"…I will admit that is a valid point,” Jack acknowledged. “He could be an old fart, for all I know. Until my facial recognition software returns with results, a ghost is what he is. A person with no last name. No prints. I don’t even know how old he is."

"Certainly, if he's committed a crime, his fingerprints and his photo will be ID-ed in the system. As well as his date and planet of birth." She closed the file window. Angel commented casually, “He has brown eyes.”

His brow lifted. "Yeah. And no enhancements in sight. He sounds like a goody-goody two shoes. For clean guys like that, I'm willing to bet he doesn't have a rap sheet. I’m also willing to betcha he was involved in a conspiracy. And he was about to blow the whistle. This could be something big, Angel. I want in on the secret."

"So you think this is an intentional cover-up."

"It's not just him. Come to think of it, ‘Rhys’ is a really unique name. Even if his name is spelled differently, or if it’s a dumb nickname, there’s no way no one hasn’t heard of someone like that. They both—Rhys and the other Rhys in the two audio logs—talked about Felix, Yvette, Sash...some garbled name...Cassi Leclema something or other. No mention of any of them in the Atlas personnel files though.” Watching as the beam of concentrated Eridium did another loop around Angel’s physical body, he declared, “Something's fishy about this. And we’re going to get to the bottom of it."

"I’ll be real to you, sir. Even if we run a memory recovery software, once they're purged from the system, we can't get the files back." Floating over to a wall, she ran a finger down another string, watching as they shimmered like opalescent fish scales before fading. “Siren powers or not.”

"The ECHOnet's full of wonders. Let's just hope someone made a back-up before the system wipe. If it’s not in here," Jack rapped his knuckles against Rhys’ forehead, “it has to be somewhere in cyberspace.”

"...Am I correct to assume you want me to hack into the computers of all Atlas personnel back then?" she said flatly.

"I gave you the whitelist. That’ll narrow it down for you. Someone on that has got to have something! I refuse to believe none of these people existed. I want answers."

"They could be aliases." She shrugged. "They may very well not exist. They could be codenames standing in for something...." Her sentence trailed off when a notification popped up. It was sent by one of her feelers.

“Oh fudge.” Analyzing the contents, she came to the realization that this was the one he didn’t want her to delete.  Other notifications soon materialized, swarming her. BOOTY - ENTRY DENIED stared back at her from various notifications. Her frown tugged down further.

Skimming them, eventually Angel came across a few that made her pause. She focused on one particular section of an array she was seeing. “No way,” she breathed to herself. Angel snuck another peek at the screens. Her eyes were wide.

“Angel…what’s going on? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

She hesitated, fingers curling into fists at her sides. “No. It’s just…oh my goodness, I've never seen code like this. I did not ask for a Da Vinci Code. What the heck.” Out of sight of the cameras, she slid a finger down one of the strings of code. A blue spark leapt from her fingertip and vanished into the darkness. Out of sight, out of mind.

Then, in a level tone louder than it was before, she stated, "You have a Bachelors in programming…and engineering."

His eyes narrowed down at her from the screens. Suspicion was written into his expression. It felt like forever, but Jack admitted begrudgingly, "For software engineering, not actual ‘ _actual_ engineering.’ I mean, I tinker, but that’s a side hobby. Androids are a little out of my depths."

"Same. Speaking of, Professor Nakayama graduated EDEN-5 U with full honors in Artificial Intelligence and Robotics. He even studied Linux."

“…So?” he replied mulishly. He’d crossed his arms. “He’s busy on other projects. _My project_ particularly. Angel, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Sir, if I may, do you see these notifications around me? I take it this Mr. Vasquez fellow didn’t upgrade him and just kept the old parts. It’s easy for me to integrate with Hyperion and Pandoran platforms. They follow the same source codes; Atlas was a bit old-fashioned.” She projected sincerity into her voice. “I think Professor Nakayama can take a day off your special project to work out any bugs in Rhys’ systems.”

 _“No, Angel._ ” His voice was withering, sharp as the crack of a whip. “ _No_. Rhys does not need upgrades of any sort. It’s staying the way it is—in peak mint condition. With every original Atlas module attached.”

“Then you’ll have to deal with that cybernetic arm of his. It’s operating at seventy-two percent efficiency. That means it’s not going to last forever. An android needs constant repairs and maintenance checks. My knowledge on androids only goes up to what the ECHOnet can tell me. I’m not an expert, sir. And you’re not either. Since Atlas no longer exists, if he’s not going behind a display case and you want him fully functioning….”

Jack was silent, mulling over her sentences. A dark cloud was gathered over the expression his mask made.

Angel could see that he was twisting the ring on his finger back and fro thoughtfully, with a thumb on the band and a middle finger on the jewel—his nervous tic. Watching him, she said, “He’s not…going to betray you, sir.”

He glanced away. “…I wanted to hear a second opinion anyway,” he said, disgruntledly, “on somehow programming a subroutine for a permanent ownership. _You_ wouldn’t be of any help to me.”

“You’ll be killing two birds with one stone, sir,” Angel agreed, trying not to let her triumph show. She was not going to question her sudden good fortune. “Who dares, wins. Right? A loyalty chip…maybe this time you and the Professor can make a technological breakthrough.”

_“Angel, what did I say about the sass?”_

“Sorry!” Angel blurted, slapping her hands over her mouth. Muffled, she said, “It just came out.”

“Angel, don’t mumble.” Nonetheless he sounded less angry than what was said. He exhaled nosily through his mask, releasing his ring. Clapping his hands together, he announced, “I’m going to give you homework.”

She straightened up. “Sir—”

His hands were angled to point down at her. “I’m going to run reconnaissance on Vasquez. I don’t trust him. You’ll find where he lives and you’ll hack into his personal computer for me. I call dibs on the one in his office. In the meanwhile, I need you to look up anything related to the names I’d mentioned, and whatever or whoever a ‘Gortys’ is. I’ll be listening to the rest of the audio logs. It’s not everything, but _my god is it a lot_. I get dizzy just thinking about it.”

“Do you,” she hesitated, meditating over her thoughts, before resuming, “also want me to look into the other task I was given? About looking up candidates? I can’t do everything all at once.”

An expletive flowed from his mouth before he could take it back. “You’re right.” He closed his eyes, deliberating.

After judging the pros and the cons, he said, “Let’s push that back a bit until we figure this out. But…Wallethead did mention he had business at Pandora. I’m curious as to what it was.”

“'Wallethead?'” she repeated, her brows scrunching.

“Vasquez. Don’t ask.” He waved a hand through the air flippantly. “This can be our father-daughter bonding activity, Angel. Ooh, I’m excited.” His entire body shivered, his shoulders sashaying side to side. Another grin was stretched over his mask. “We’re going to be cracking a mystery. Just you and me. You’re the only one I trust.”

Her heart instantly flopped in her chest. Angel bit her lower lip.

“I was specifically told to dismantle it, that corporations shouldn't get their hands on it. Y’know what this could only mean? It's a secret weapon Atlas has developed that they don't want competitors to get their hands on.” His leg extended out, and his foot dragged over whatever he’d put the camera on. He leaned closer to the camera until his breath nearly fogged up the lens. “That means Atlas has leverage over every megacorporation out there. Even Hyperion. And I have their key.”

At a loss for words, she smiled halfheartedly.

“Think about it, Angel. What else could it be? Whatever this ‘Gortys’ is, Rhys can interface with it. That means I have to find that part—or person, whatever—or lure whoever has it to me. I just need to know what the heck I’m looking for.”

"It's—it's not outside the realm of possibility," Angel stammered. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I’ll look into Mr. Vasquez’s online activities. And I’ll run keyword-searches simultaneously.”

“And another thing. If you find porn on his computer, stop and turn the other way around. Tell me about it, but don’t look into it. Capisce?”

“Ew.”

“It’s a guy thing, Angel. And a woman thing.” His expression suddenly altered. He crossed his arms, looking as if he were steeling himself for what he was about to say. His fingers fidgeted with a sleeve. “And, uh, I know you’re at the age where you’re starting to be curious about—”

“No need! I’ll keep it in mind!” she blurted. Weaving her hand through the air like a conductor, she gestured to a few pop-ups that glided closer to her. “Good news is all of his functions seem to be in order? I’d like to tell you what they are, but the fun to owning an android is the discovery.”

_“Angel….”_

“I’ll give you this one. I found code for a…a defense matrix. I’m not sure what. It won’t kill anyone, according to this, but it’s a self-defensive subroutine programmed into him, triggered situationally. So I can’t activate it.” A blue eye shot up. “It’s keyed to Rhys’ owner. You.”

Jack was silent for a minute. His mouth was quirked in thought. Then he said, “Cool. So it has a bodyguard function. What else?”

“Um…the average functions for companion models, if I hazard a guess. Which is not a lot.” She rolled her shoulders in another blasé shrug. “GPS and compass. Fluency over three-hundred languages. The standard medical treatment and diagnosis. As long as he’s plugged into the ECHOnet, you can download any package into him. The…defense matrix was...the only thing that stood out.” Her palms felt sweaty. “These are corrupted but heavily encrypted extensions. I don’t have much to go on.”

Jack had migrated his hand underneath the clasp of his chin. He was murmuring to himself, “Vasquez said he had a team that worked on assembling Rhys together. They should have the blueprints and schematics.”

When he looked back at her, Angel forced herself to smile. She fought the compulsion to look away. With a grandiose sweep of the arm, the simulated virtual reality collapsed on itself like a black hole. Once she was seeing through her physical sight, she said, “I’ll give you a hint. You’ll like one of his functions, sir. Maybe. It’s unusual.”  

“Didn’t you just say…?” Even as his sentence trailed off, he looked intrigued. He threw his hands up. “Fine. Never mind. I see how it is.”

“It’s not every day you own an android. You might as well have fun. It’s not dangerous or anything as long as you’re registered as his owner.” Her birthmarks had darkened back into blue. She suggested, “You should keep in contact with Mr. Vasquez. You said he’s hiding something. It’s hard to lie to you, to your face.”

Angel had no idea how she’d managed to keep her voice even all this time. Or how she managed to keep her poise.

“Oh, trust me. I will.”

“If you can’t find him in his department, he should have a PA.”

“They all do,” he murmured absently. “So I have to draw basic plans before I visit the AI Department and hand Rhys over to them. I’m not even sure if I should install the corrupted personality package. If they screw me over, there’ll be hell to pay.”

The orange hue of the screens brought her images of sunrise. Pensive, she rolled her teeth over her lower lip. She was loathe to break the atmosphere, but Jack was in the rare good mood. This would be the best time to bring it up again. She braced herself for the disappointment. “Sir?”

Noticing the serious undercurrent, his muscles tensed up. He replied cautiously, “What’s up, Angel?”

“Sorry. You won’t like what I have to say.” Angel hugged her arms, flustered. Her fingertips could feel the muscles and bones underneath the skin. The constant stream of fluid flowing into her from the tubes was a constant ache—a tingly sensation that she could feel suffused deep into her bone marrow. “Can I—will you…gosh.” Her tongue felt tied in a knot.

His expression darkened, acquainted with the pattern of words. “Angel, we’ve been over this. I have to protect my little girl.” He set the camera down. Slipping off the workbench, he lowered Rhys down gently. His palm was cradling the back of its head as if he were holding a fragile figurine.

“Please. Even if it’s only for one hour.”

“You’re eighty percent robot; you can’t survive without these machines and the Eridium.” His back was facing toward the camera. “I’m sorry. I know you hate it, but I can’t lose you. Very few people can know about you, Angel. And you know how big the target is on my back now more than ever.”

All the energy in her limbs seemed to seep out. Angel ducked her head. She should’ve expected it, but the rejection was still crushing. Her eyes were burning. Her entire body felt weighted down by rocks.

There was a rattling noise in the distance.

“Angel.” He repeated her name many times, trying to get her attention.

When she finally glanced up, Jack was scrutinizing her through the transmission, himself having picked up the camera again. She could see the creases in his skin above the mask, even the discernable greying streaks in his hair with his face up close to the lens.

Jack was mulling a thought in his head, his forehead puckered and his gaze intense. At last, he murmured softly, “I love you. You know I love you, right?”

Angel went quiet. There were many things she wanted to say—all of them he’d heard before. Avoiding his eyes, this time she mumbled, “You set that as the password for the voice recognition software, Dad. How could I not know?” 

Angel fixated her attention on the white-painted mechs in the chamber rotating around her like the images on a zoetrope. They were deliberately designed to look mechanical than human, with their ever-revolving heads and missing sculptural features that’d allow them to emote. Or for her to naturally visualize humanity in them.

Bitterness arose, clawing up her throat. Her birthmarks glowed once more. “You know how to find me.”

She disconnected the transmission.

* * *

Over the course of several days, Jack followed a routine: waking up, fast traveling to work, intimidating underlings, razzle dazzling the rest, and fast traveling home. Outliers to the schedule were allotted to all the free time he’d scrounged up to research and invest time in his personal side-projects in private, now that Angel was actively ignoring his ECHOcoms, only keeping in contact with him via audio whenever she had results to give him.

Currently Jack was back at Hyperion headquarters, his mind bright and fresh in the early morning. At this time, there was a lower number of staff present that were awake. He walked with a bounce to his steps, his hands in his pockets and ECHO devices tucked into the crook of his elbow. Footsteps resounded behind him—similar to his boots that were clattering against the metallic flooring as he traversed the winding halls. The android had been ambling behind closely, taking in its surroundings from the moment the pair materialized back onto this plane of reality. No doubt it had been drafting a floorplan in its memory.

“Welcome to my kingdom!” He could feel Rhys’ optics focused on his back like twin lasers. Sweeping his arms out wide, one arm higher than the other, Jack turned his back on the hullabaloo. His mouth was stretched in a broad smirk.

Being in interstellar space, where it was still and quiet, the acoustics of the reinforced architecture had a curious phenomenon of amplifying sounds of human activity. Potted plants and various greenery were strategically placed throughout the industrial setting, with grand windows offering a view into outer space. If one were to search for Pandora, they might see rainclouds veiling the planet like a huge white blanket. A few stragglers were peering outside, commenting on the unusual forecast. Most other personnel, all with the Hyperion emblem pinned to their lapels and outfitted in the standard office wear—all wearing gendered dark uniforms—passed on by, parting before Jack like an autonomous Red Sea before congregating again into a small horde of bodies. They all snuck covert looks back at the spectacle, curious as to the reason their CEO was swaggering backwards, playing tour guide for someone they haven’t seen before.

Still striding backwards, Jack took a deep breath, holding it in his lungs, before releasing it. "Mm, smell that capitalism."

Unsure of whether or not that remark had been rhetorical, Rhys sniffed the air. It noticed Jack was waiting for it to speak up. “…It smells like confectionaries and roasted coffee beans,” it told him dubiously after a while, having processed the odors. Rhys added, “And exorbitant usage of pomade and perfume.”  

Jack grinned. “Isn’t it aromatic?” Turning on his heels, he swept his arms through the air once more as if beseeching a higher power. “Someone should stopper it and brand it as Hyperion-scented. I’d buy it.”

“…As long as it makes you happy.”

The muscles in Jack’s expression grew lax. He slowed down. “That was a joke.” 

Bystanders were staring at them from the sidelines, expecting an incident but relaxing when none was forthcoming.

Rhys observed their reactions. “I see I have caused you offense.” Rhys’ pace picked up until the android was walking beside Jack in stride, matching him step by step. Its hands were tucked into the pockets of its trousers. “I apologize, Jack.”

“At least you look sincere.” Jack squinted at Rhys from his side. His hand shot out, colliding against its chest. “Woah. Slow down there, buckaroo.” His forearm throbbed, as if he’d rammed it against a steel beam.

Heterochromatic optics—brown and yellow—honed in on the hand against it. Rhys glanced up, its expression fixed into a convincing portrayal of perplexity. It had its brows raised for effect. “Is something the matter, Jack?”

“Yeah, you.” When Rhys fixed him with a blank look, Jack demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Rhys remained silent, processing the question. The time delay wasn’t enough to be cause for concern, but it lasted enough for it to be raised on Jack’s radar. At last, Rhys replied, “Your question was vague. Please revise.”

“Ah! What did I say yesterday? Keep it fresh.”

Eyelids clicked over the acrylic eyeballs. Rhys was hesitating, visibly struggling. In the end, it managed, “…Could you please clarify?” The optics adjusted downward. It was staring again at the hand splayed against it. “I must say this. Your request would be more feasible had you switched me from my default settings. Responses are limited. You have to ask the right questions.”

“I’m still on the fence about it. But good on you for following directives.” Jack patted Rhys on the cheek. Reaching down, he pulled Rhys’ hands out of its trousers. Watching as the limbs settled back down at its sides, he commented, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve been copying me.”

“I see. So that’s what’s been distressing you.” It inclined its head, gazing at Jack as if he were the most fascinating person in the galaxy. It’d obviously never occurred to Rhys how abnormal it was to monitor another person’s idiosyncrasies, and putting those observations into practice. Rhys told him, “You have a distinctive walk, as well as syntax.”

“It’s creepy watching a grown-man imitate me. You’re not a toddler. Cut it out.”

“Your request has been processed.” The ECHOeye glowed brighter before dimming. “But I must alert you, unlike other models, we pride ourselves in mimicking realistic human behavior. We learn this through observations of—”

“I’ll have you download a personality package sooner or later,” Jack interrupted it. “I swear, you Atlas mechs were programmed to make anything sound pretentious. It’s driving me insane…why are you looking at me like that?”

“The standard social distance required for personal space is four to six feet, depending on the learnt cultural norms. You are standing very close. Normally, this would be achieved among good friends or family. Might you explain this to me? I cannot comprehend what I’ve done, for you to have instinctively come to consider me as such….”

His hand lowered. Instead he went to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if warding off a migraine. He exhaled. With his eyes closed and his head bent, Jack waggled his fingers. “Gimme your hand.”

Perhaps this was the most recently outlandish moment of his life, patiently waiting for an android to respond to his command. Once he felt a cool weight against his palm, Jack blindly fished for the small object. Upon his skin catching on a raised edge, he hooked his finger around the hoop, withdrawing the object from his pocket. Holding Rhys’ hand in place, he slipped the ring past the knuckle of its index finger.

“It’s a tracker,” Jack explained. He turned his hand around and wiggled his fingers. The metal band around his own reflected the overhead lights, with the sapphire refracting an illusion of white. The jewel’s rich blue coloring hid the electronic chip underneath. “Like mine. See, we match.”

Rhys was gazing down at its hand curiously for the longest time. “Thank you," it finally said. Turning the limb back and fro in the air, Rhys commented, "This is strange."

Jack chortled. “Just keep it on. And don’t flaunt it. We don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

“The tracking device is to prevent theft and loss of property, if you lose me. I approve. You’re smarter than what is recorded in my databanks.” Its mouth splintered into a clumsy slant. The angle was crooked, as if the android was still figuring out how to smile. “I will make an update in light of this positive development.”

At the unintentional jibe, Jack’s smile was all grimace and teeth. He slapped it on the back—harshly—propelling Rhys forward. “Don’t lose it,” was all he said to that.

He’d spent a long time in the workshop, fiddling with the ring’s design on a rapid prototyping program. There hadn’t been sapphires in any of his toolboxes, but he’d 3D-printed the ring’s sleek form so that there were no obvious visual clues among the surrounding ceramic zirconia to indicate its true purpose. Even now, his workshop smelled acrid from the powder in the machines and from the toxic bonding agent he’d used to seal the cracks. It would take some time for Jack to air out the room. 

Regardless, it was the only way he’d let Rhys out of his sights.

As they meandered, Jack glanced at the placards that were backlit from behind, using them as visual guidance. To make their way to the Artificial Intelligence branch of Hyperion, they’d have to bypass the department for Research and Development. He’d informed Rhys where their destination was earlier today, but only Jack knew how to access those restricted areas.

In the meanwhile, Jack returned any greetings thrown in his direction. The android followed him trustingly, keeping silent. Occasionally he could feel Rhys’ gaze fall back on him but sometimes, when he’d check, he would turn his head to see Rhys staring after the machines that were assisting the humans in their day-to-day tasks.

Like large spindly insects, the drones would whizz by them overhead, delivering errands or scanning objects of interest. The loaders, on the other hand, resembled anthropomorphic construction trucks with a single red optic affixed into its broad chest-plate.

The majority of the Loader Bots’ heavy mass was placed on its bowlegged limbs from the hydraulics and parts hidden beneath the chest-plate. Thusly their joints creaked and groaned with every step they took. The paint-coat of the combat mechs stood out like tall, yellow beacons towering eight feet high among the throng of dark silhouettes much shorter than them. 

A Loader Bot was currently approaching them, carrying a stack of devices and documents in its arms. Accompanying it was a dark-skinned woman in her thirties, wearing an orange blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, speaking into the device in her ear. Against the window, the color of her reflection radiated a brightness. She seemed unaware as to whatever was ahead of her, chastising whoever was on the other side of the earpiece.

Jack felt himself beginning to frown, as he was reeling internally at the display of obliviousness. His mouth quirked, feeling his eyes being reeled down to those mile-long legs in gossamer hosiery. He could stick his foot out. Maneuvering around them, they passed by the woman and her Loader Bot without incident.

“Management will believe what I want them to,” he could hear her rebuke. Her voice climbed when she demanded, “Look, do you have the sufficient funds or not?” The woman was walking too fast for him to see the ID pinned onto her blouse, so Jack committed to memory her half-rim spectacles and the dreadlocks combed over the side of her face.

It was too early to make an example out of her. She seemed to be productive, earning him and his company money. Jack was in a good mood, so he’ll let this instance go by just this once. It wasn’t to say that Jack wouldn’t casually drop this example of his goodwill later into a conversation, if he needed something.

“Say, pal,” Jack addressed abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest. He jerked his head over toward his walking companion. In the back of his mind, Jack noticed that the android was as tall as him; the only difference being one or two inches, depending on how high they styled their hair. He didn’t have to make the extra effort to crane his neck. “What do you think a teenage girl would like? …Who may or may not be mad at me.”

Before the pair disappeared into the crowd, the woman’s eyes widened. Her volume petered out. Peering over her shoulder, she was staring at the back of the android’s head in disbelief, until Jack and Rhys turned the corner, vanishing from her line of sight.

“I cannot give you the answer you want. There are hundreds of possibilities I can provide you.” Its cybernetic arm jerked, and a hologram emerged from the disk in its palm. Gazing into the ECHOeye was like peering into the sun as Rhys inquired, “Do you desire something custom-made? Or do you desire objects of sentimentality? You’ll have to tell me more about this person. I should be able to look her up on social media and perform an analysis with the data you give me, with only a thin margin of error.”

The Adam’s apple jerked in Jack’s throat. He faltered.

Rhys noticed the reaction. Processing the information, it concluded, “Is her identity a confidential matter?”

“Kinda.” His voice was strained. “Clarify. What did you mean by ‘looking her up?’”

“Partialities are subjective for every organic being.” Rhys eyed him. “It would be helpful for me to know her full name. Then I can construct a profile of her likes, her dislikes, her personality, and etcetera based on her search history. What is the occasion, Jack? Is it for an anniversary or for a birthday that you wish to present her with your gift?”

“No, no,” Jack spluttered. There was no way anyone would be able to access records of Angel’s existence which he’d encrypted himself personally. “No special occasions. Nothing like that. I just…maybe you can give me something more…something that everyone universally likes. She’s not a money person. And I can’t really take her out to places.”

After computing the probability of each likelihood, it said, “It’s the thought that counts. Be sincere. Get her a card. And apologize in person.” Rhys struck a thumbs-up with its non-cybernetic hand. “Good luck.”

Jack’s brows dipped as he scoffed out a helpless laugh. “You really make me wonder what the real Rhys would say to that.” His hand shot up. “No, I know you’re real. I meant…the guy who worked on you. The one you share a name with.”

It’d opened its mouth. “Bzzzzzzzt….” The optics ricocheted, eyelids shifting up and down.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. The most primal part of him did not like seeing that. The facial movements and the voice modulation were supposed to imitate a human perfectly. Early stages into their interactions that it may be, transcending the Uncanny Valley required a nigh-seamless performance in order for him to forget that he was essentially talking to a computer. For a supposedly state-of-the-art technology, the android’s subsystems were erratic and lagging—issues which Jack had hope could be recalibrated.

Rhys answered back in its modulated tone: “Unfortunately. I have no answer to give that will satisfy you.”

“…Figures.” Still, his mask was fixed into a smile, conflicting with the sight of his hands clenched into fists. Noticing that they were approaching their destination, he slowed down. Up ahead, a pair of reinforced steel doors spanned several meters long. Splashed across their middle was a bar of yellow, stamped with the corporation’s logo at its centermost.

Jack slid his ID into the machine reader, waiting to be granted authorization. When the machine beeped, the gates were sliding back into the walls. The air-conditioned breeze immediately _swooshed_ out, blasting cold air against the sides of their faces. “Okay,” Jack murmured. He held Rhys back, stressing, “Keep close to me. Don’t touch anything. Don’t stare at anything. Don’t make unnecessary conversations. Don’t step on the pressure plates. Keep your head low and follow me. Capisce?”

“Crystal.”

His finger bobbed down once warningly. Jack released the android, being the first to cross the threshold. Immediately in the forefront were a row of placards affixed into the five walls that made up the anteroom—labeled INDIGENOUS SPECIES RESEARCH, STALKER BIOME, OBSERVATION ROOM 11-B, AQUATIC LIFE STABILIZATION AREA, AQUATIC OBSERVATION AREA, ADVANCED PROPULSION WEAPON TESTING, ROBOTICS DURABILITY AND ADAPTABILITY RESEARCH, DE QUIDT SYNAPTIC PROCESSING, AUTOMATED WEAPONS PRODUCTION, and LAB 19—all backlit and chromateched in black typeface. Familiar with the process, he went in opposite direction of the chamber where all the animalistic snarling and growling originated—with the occasional _zap_ and the yelp that ensued. Instead, he took the route most famous for their mass assembly line of machinery.

If the architecture could be described as industrial, R&D was a massive warehouse facility. Prefab parts were being delivered on wide conveyor belts. Nearby industrial arms, each one affixed to a rotary device on the floor, were fabricating the guns and machinery together.

Against the smog and acrid smell wafting through the air, Jack purposely breathed shallowly through his mouth. The few engineers he saw working wore overalls. For safety measures, they also wore thick helmets covering their entire face, except for the small windows built-in that allowed for sight. Sparks of heat, roaring as loud as a waterfall, were gushing out of their welding torches in streams, only vanishing once the sparks landed on the floor. Buzz saws were whirring stridently, carving into metal and PVC. Jack could still see evidence of yesterday’s wash when they hosed down the place, as they do every night.

Rhys lagged behind. Although it had been relatively obedient of the commands issued to it, the android couldn’t help glancing up time to time at the line of mechs. They hung like puppets with their strings cut off, hooked up and suspended by a system of cables plugged into their backs.

Jack's lip curled. He could only hope it wasn't swallowed in an existential crisis. “Rhys!” Annoyed by its slow response, Jack tugged on Rhys’ bicep. “This way,” he shouted, fixated on the Dahl container up ahead.

It took quite a bit of distance before the roaring in their ears died down a bit. They were approaching another set of doors similar to the one before. Rhys’ optics zoomed ahead toward the placard denoting ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE. Once it was certain it could be heard over the volume, Rhys remarked, “I thought Hyperion constructors were all digistructed from a master prototype.”

“What?” His eyes narrowed at Rhys’ face. In a lower tone, he asked cautiously, “How did you know that?”

“It is not a trade secret.” Rhys folded its hands behind its back. Its expression was fixed into that of interest. “Unless you are keeping the manufacturing under wraps, this seems to diverge from the theory shared among the Atlas employees.”   

“That we digistruct our constructors?” Jack huffed a laugh through his nose. “Get out of town. Of course we do.”

The ECHOeye flashed. “…Noted.”

It looked like it had more to say. But just as Jack slid his ID through the card slot, yelling could be heard once a gap emerged between the doors. Then someone shouted, “Watch out!”

Instinct had Jack vaulting over to safety, his weight shoving him and Rhys up against a wall, when a faceless robot shot out of the opening as fast as a rocket launcher. It spun through the air like a propelled missile, before crashing sidelong against the floor. Sparks flew up as it skidded across a considerable distance. Then it ceased, a leg and an arm dropping down with two loud _clangs_.

His heart was still jackhammering in his chest. He and Rhys exchanged looks. The android had its body angled bizarrely, as if stuck in mid-motion—reacting to a protocol—and its uncertainty of what would be the appropriate action to take. One of its limbs was in the direction that the mech came from and another was floating away from Jack’s hip.

Jack could hear the mechanisms whirring away in Rhys’ exoskeleton as he peeled himself off the android—gingerly, wincing, his body tender from the impact—with his eyes set on the faceless mech. Unlike the loaders’ design, this mech was gaunter and sleek—a golden skeleton. Even far away, he could spot the massive hole, ruptured, exiting out the mech’s temple as if someone had pulled the trigger pointblank.

He couldn’t help but scoff.

A black clipboard clattered onto the floor. “Oh my god. That’s Handsome Jack.”

There was a group of engineers and technicians gathered on the other side. From first glance, their ages ranged from mid-twenties to early forties or fifties, all wearing lab coats over their uniforms.

“Why am I not surprised?” Jack asserted, sauntering into the laboratory, slapping his hands together in loud claps. Like a shadow, Rhys had to follow quickly before the doors slammed shut behind them. “ _For shame._ Another failure on our hands, boys and gals?”

For each step Jack took, the crowd retreated. An outlier to that was someone in the distance who’d gotten to his feet at the sound of Jack’s voice, striding away from his chair and standing on his tiptoes to see over others’ shoulders.

Guarding the entrance were two bronze casts of Lawrence de Quidt, glowering down menacingly at whoever passed under them. Heralded as the “Father of AI,” de Quidt had been a prodigy pivotal to the establishment of Hyperion’s artificial intelligence branch. Many of de Quidt’s prototypes were used as study models, saturating the market and being used as teaching tools in higher education, inspiring a wave of innovation in the industry.

Throughout the laboratory, various machinery and robotic parts were dyed a cold blue from the lighting fixtures weaved strategically between the ventilation ducts and exhaust fans. Quantum computers—black, bulky boxes of varying widths and heights—were up against the walls, with machines plugged into them to process the data at the speed that they reached.

Jack continued, “I do give my regards! You came close to killing me this time. It was only a few seconds short. My condolences.”

Out from the crowd—standing unnaturally still and pressed up against tables, hoping he wouldn’t notice if they stayed as quiet as a mouse—emerged a man with a slightly hunched back. Were he to stand upright, he could be considered of an average height. He was in his forties, balding, but with a full beard and sideburns gleaming copper beneath the lighting fixtures.

“Jack! The man, the myth, the legend!" Approaching them, the man had his arms outstretched wide, his limbs thin as wires. “I’m so glad you’re alive—!”

Jack stopped him, his thumb pressed up against the man’s collarbone. The rest of his fingers were clamped onto a bony shoulder. “I don’t do hugs.” He squeezed once, enough that the man winced visibly. His hand sliding down, Jack went to straighten the ID pinned crookedly on the lapel. “We're not on first name basis yet, Professor Nakayama. But boy am I glad to see you. You’re just the scientist I was looking for. Could we talk in private? "

Hearing that, beaming, Nakayama inflated under Jack’s gaze like a balloon, his shoulders pushed back. "Of course. Where are my manners? It's so good to see you. Sir." Fingersnaps as sharp as whip-cracks echoed twice throughout the lab. Nakayama then jabbed his finger in the random direction of a technician. “You, go bring it back. _Carefully_. And bring some help with you. It’s heavy.”

The technician nodded, clinging to the clipboard against his chest as he careened through the herd of bodies. The technician could be seen gesturing at a few colleagues, calling for someone to bring a functioning Loader Bot. The crowd immediately dispersed, their nerves settled once they realized there would be no consequence today. Several people were laughing quietly, sauntering back to their desks. Communal worktables were interspersed throughout the open space, with each station personalized depending on the person.

An arm slithered over Nakayama’s shoulders.

Nakayama automatically reached to catch the ECHO devices dropped before his arms. He was then shoved forward from the force against his shoulders, compelled to follow along with the pace Jack set. This close up, the scent of the cologne and detergent Handsome Jack used burned in his nose. Perspiration pooled beneath his armpits.

“You’re the leading expert on biomechanics and AI, Professor.”

Anxiously, Nakayama pushed the glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Th-that I am.” He ducked his head, lightheaded and feeling drunk off Jack's proximity. The lights overhead glinted off his head. “That’s why you hired me.”

“Modesty now, Professor." He managed to warp his mask into a broad grin. "So you know how huge of a loss I’ll incur if you die, right?”

“Uh….”

“Don’t take that the wrong way. Just proving a point. Which brings me to my next point…what did I see fly out at me? Because….” He chuckled, his knuckles whitening as he compressed harder. “…I could’ve sworn that’s Project Harbinger slash Icarus. Don’t tell me that was my immortality suit I just saw outside.”

A sort of wheezing laugh burst out of Nakayama—nervous and airy. He shrank into himself. “Yeah, no, just…it’s still in early prototype stages. We were testing collision impact against the carbon fiber, Handsome Jack. Sir. It was still intact, wasn’t it? N-nothing broke?”

Jack made a noncommittal noise behind closed lips. From his peripheral vision, he could spot two tall figures in the distance, meandering through and dodging the crowd. One was his android who seemed to be traveling at a leisurely pace, sightseeing everything. Excluding the figures with tarp thrown over them, the android seemed as equally enamored for each robot passed. It seemed particularly keen on one model, lingering longer every time it went by one that was functioning.

Another was a woman who was approaching them, her eyes set on the back of Nakayama’s head. 

“I admit, the AI’s still wonky. It shot itself, after all. But trust me, we’re working out the kinks.” Nakayama assured him. “Everything’s going smoothly. Peachy, even. We’re still inputting your answers to the questionnaires, and having it run through the scenarios. A little…roleplay, if you will. If I may, sir, I'm still your most loyal.”

 _“Really._ ” Heterochromatic eyes lowered to the monitors projecting AI and software programs. Jack could already see the divisions in the lab based on whatever the screen depicted. The farther they traveled into the lab, away from the commercial projects, the more classified the blueprints and the schematics became.

Following Hyperion's takeover of Pandora, every CL4P-TP unit—except the upgraded Fyrestone Claptrap that Jack had reprogrammed—was shut down. The CL4P-TP project bridged that middle. To access the more restricted areas, they’d have to cross that division. He could see its boxy form ahead, in pieces and being worked on by various personnel. The single camera lens—which functioned as its optic, containing a blue dot in the centermost—zoomed in on them.

It waved at them wildly, its joints clanking with each erratic motion. “My favorite humans!” it warbled, high-pitched in its static, robotic modulation. “Good morning, Sunshines. The earth says hello!”

Jack groaned. “Do the right thing, Professor. End the pain. Grant it Death’s sweet release.”

Before Nakayama had a chance to respond, the footsteps grew louder, heels clicking against the floor. The woman thrusted her arm into the air. She waved her clipboard around as she called out, “Professor!”

Nakayama twisted around. “What!” he hissed. His glare was venomous. “You? I’m busy _paying attention on important matters!_ ”

“Hey, you,” Jack said breezily. When the technician looked around and then pointed at her chest when no one else seemed to be the person Jack was referring to, Jack rolled his eyes. He said, “Yes, you, sweetheart. I remember your face. Do you know how’s the reprogramming going for…You-Know-What over there? Your team was given full reigns to do whatever you want with that product line. I recall a silly name, last time I saw your supervisor.”

“Oh no, Handsome Jack, sir!” She beamed. “Not anymore. Sales is rebranding the unit now as the INAC. It’ll stand for the ‘Interplanetary Ninja Assassin Claptrap’ series.”

A barely-constrained chortle escaped his mask.

Curious as to the reaction, the technician smiled falteringly. “Uh, it’s supposed to, uh….” Her voice sounded faint. She glanced down at her clipboard, reading off, “Be able to poison, set traps, and spread catty rumors about any enemy it’s got marked into its target systems.” The black gloss of the lacquered clipboard was speckled with an unidentifiable material.

Jack’s mirth died down. “You’re serious. …That’s the name you’re giving the nightmare fuel.”

“The team thought it would be better—for long term revenue, by golly—if we rebranded CL4P-TP as a collectible ninja collection, so we—”

“ _Hello?_ ” Claptrap squawked. “Am I even in the room right now—?”

“It’s not yet been decided!” Nakayama interjected hastily, purloining the clipboard from her hands and scribbling his initials onto the boxes highlighted. Upon finishing, he shoved it back into her arms, gesturing dismissively at her to flee his presence. Her polite goodbyes went unnoticed as he motioned to the team working on Claptrap, conveying the urgency of his message to them by rapidly slicing his hand over his throat.

His hand behind Jack’s shoulder, he exerted pressure. They picked up their pace so that his employer wouldn’t suffer Claptrap’s presence any longer than necessary. He was hastily informing Jack, “Whatever you want to call it, we’ll go with that. Marketing and Sales will agree. There’s no implicit reason why they wouldn’t.”

He ushered Jack through the parted folding partition, into his office. Aside from a few openings, tacks and post-its concealed the movie posters on the wall. Nakayama’s hand was still up against the acrylic material when Jack asked, “So what’s that on your table?”

A befuddled noise escaped from him. Twisting around, Nakayama could see Jack was studying the projected computer screen peeking out behind the clutter. Nakayama rushed over, sweeping the ECHO devices over his monitor. He turned his back, covering it from Jack’s line of sight, nearly arched backwards over the edge of the table. The sides of his head were covered with a thin layer of sweat.

“Nothing to see here. Not that I’m working on a side project. In fact, I actually—” Blindly filching behind him, touching empty water bottles and even a potted plant, his arms withdrew back with a pile of digital surveys. “—have more homework for you. I know it’s tiresome, but we really need—!”

“Hi,” Rhys stated upon reaching them, “I like your loaders.”

“RHYS!” Jack yelled, startling Nakayama, nearly sending the surveys flying. Jack leaned against the acrylic partition, his hand over his heart. He’d nearly reached into his holster. “Oh my god, you don’t do tha—forgive it, Professor.” He felt his eyes skyrocket up to the ceiling in exasperation. “Social niceties isn’t in its forte.”

“I…um….” Nakayama’s eyes fell on Rhys who’d been examining their interaction. Flustered, he asked, “Who’s this? Your name is Rhys, correct?” Dropping the surveys, Nakayama had automatically extended his hand out for a handshake as he meandered over.

The partition was slammed shut. All noises from outside became muffled. “Funny you did that. Pumpkin, your right hand. Now.”

Without looking back, Jack whistled stridently and he crooked his fingers in Rhys’ direction, his palm up and his fingers wiggling. He was rocking back and forth on his heels, waiting for it to understand the command. Once he felt the cool weight against his palm, Jack yanked Rhys forward so that the wrist was nearly underneath Nakayama’s nose. “This is what I wanted to show you. I didn’t come here for a social call.”

Boggling down at the serial number, Nakayama lowered his arm. He cleared his throat. “Th-that’s an Atlas model,” he observed in as casual of a tone he could manage. The automaton was so human-like, he’d mistaken it for flesh and blood. It’d had to be stripped for him to be completely sure, but the skin-work was remarkable. “Where…how did you…?”

“I found it. Neat, huh?” 

“Astronomical,” Nakayama assured him, however distracted as he was scrutinizing the design of the android’s figure and facial features. Based on what they were seeing, it couldn't be intended for combat. He glanced up, his brows puckered. “Is this a standard pleasure or companion model?”

Jack’s stomach plummeted. “Woooooooah! Woah! Whoa!” He recoiled. “What do you take me for?”

“It is natural,” Rhys informed Jack tranquilly, “to reach that assumption, under these contexts. Although it’s characteristic of your dynamic personality, it would behoove you to cease and desist with the endearments.”

Jack stared at it. Swiveling his head around, he said, “Look, this is partially what I wanted to talk to you about.” Slapping Rhys by the small of its back, he shoved it forward. Striking his hands on his hips and looking down at Nakayama, he said, “You’re the expert. Fix it.”

His gaze swept over Rhys once more from head to toe. Parts would already be difficult to acquire. Outdated as could be, this was a model he’d never seen in the market. Aesthetical indications designated that they were dealing with a custom-made or exclusive android unit. That meant it would be more difficult to work around its specifications. Nakayama’s brows crinkled. “I…assume it’s not programming-related. You want repairs.” His voice sounded faraway to him. “I’ll…do what I can. What about it isn’t up to performance?”

“Atlas no longer exists,” Rhys supplied helpfully. “I was told to accommodate you, Professor Nakayama, while you perform maintenance check. You are hailed as a genius in the robotics field.” Watching as the stouter man puffed up, it went about explaining what the process would entail.

Silently Jack observed their conversation. The spiel had been same, word-for-word, as the information it’d recited when they first met. 

“Rhys seems to be functioning fine,” Nakayama said at last. He’d reached into his coat pocket and extracted a stylus. The penlight was clicked on. Simultaneously, the android had activated its ECHOeye, eerily examining him back. Disregarding the sense of foreboding it raised—the experience of being under an inorganic being’s microscope, running a diagnosis on him—Nakayama shined his light over Rhys’ face, turning its chin this way and that.

Although it had been manufactured by a rival brand, Nakayama had to give credit where it was due. Effort had been put into making this product hyper-realistic. Normally one would layer paint coating after paint coating in a plaster mold until the synthetic skin resembled that of a human's. The airbrushing that'd went into Rhys' faux-dermal layers was extraordinarily textured, granting its skin tone the impression of a healthy glow.

“There doesn’t seem to be physical problems. Eccentric design otherwise, the exterior shell is pristine.”

“Have you heard it speak?” Jack challenged him. “The delay time to process information and respond is a beat slower than I’d like. Sometimes it’s unable to execute my commands.” He crossed his arms. “The subsystems crashed on me not too long ago. This is your field of expertise, Professor. Rhysie needs a tune-up.”

The penlight went to the neural port, before flashing over the tattoos over its neck. Nakayama contemplated their joint existence. “You didn’t set its personality. It hasn’t been displaying a wide range of emotions and inflections."

To his awareness, the six basic emotions found universally in every culture were happiness, fear, surprise, sadness, anger and disgust. With the right motors, the standard high-quality robot was able to emulate over sixty-two facial expressions. By contracting or expanding the synthetic facial muscles in different degrees and combinations, by mimicking the body language of humans, one would be able to pass oneself off as an organic being to ordinary bystanders.

Keeping in mind the lack of bioengineering education of the man Nakayama admired, for Jack's benefit he said, "In the human face, we only need to move five main muscles and several assisting ones. Our muscles contract the most when we frown while we use about seventeen to smile. Rhys, can you give me and Jack a smile? I need to test your versatility to see what we're dealing with.” 

For the first time since they met, Rhys smiled sweetly—albeit clumsily. The glow of the ECHOeye dimmed. “We live in a transhumanist age, Professor,” it notified him. “For the sake of your wellbeing, you should look into fixing your sclerosis."

The penlight bobbed across the contours of Rhys' face as Nakayama gaped with an open mouth, scarcely believing what he just heard. The light clicked off. Displeasure was flying across his face. He shot a glance at his employer who had extended his arms out to no one in particular, his shoulders lifted in a half shrug. 

“...Told you Rhys was a little shit. It has no filter.” Despite that, Jack was filled with an inexplicable fondness. Perhaps the knowledge that it came from an automaton he owned—and the fact that it wasn't directed at him—made it less terrible.

Soon his sight went to the blueprints peeking out on Nakayama’s desk, examining the silvery writing that noted the progress of the AI project he'd assigned Nakayama and his team. His tone was distracted as he mentioned, “Fun as it is, I need you to work your magic now. _That’s it_. Don’t dig any further than that.”

There was a tremor in his hand when Nakayama readjusted his glasses. “What’s going on?” Mindful of his posture now, he straightened out his spine as far as it would go.

Hearing the abrupt change in tone, Jack tore his gaze away from the drawings. The toe of his boot was tapping a staccato beat against the floor. “Yeah, I’d figured you’d know something was up sooner or later.” 

Advancing forward, Jack marched up to him until he was violating the man’s personal boundaries. Elbowing Rhys out of the way, he slapped both hands on Nakayama’s shoulders, his gaze intense on the spectacles as he stared him down.

He crooned, “That robot over there has information that I need. Ah-ah!” He held up a finger, shushing the scientist. “You’ll have your turn. Listen to me first.”

Nakayama's mouth closed like a steel trap.

His voice diving an octave lower, Jack said, “When I come back, I expect to see my android intact, with all original Atlas parts still there. You will refurbish nothing. You will tell me everything it tells you. It has a huge chunk of memory gone _pfft! Kaput_! If you can recover any of the data, that’ll be swell.” His hands squeezed harder. “Most of all, _you will not delete or install the package Rhys has in it_. If I find out you disobeyed me….”

Trailing off, he left it to Nakayama’s imagination. Seeing the man’s face pale at whatever was running through his brain, Jack chuckled ominously. “Turnover's high in this department.”

Patting Nakayama by the cheek, Jack noticed his skin was considerably darker. "Fortunately, I actually like you, Professor Nakayama. You're a hard worker. I'd hate for you to drop the ball suddenly." He leaned in close. "Don’t disappoint me.”

The Adam’s apple bobbled as Nakayama swallowed. It went without saying that if Jack discovered Rhys had been kidnapped or damaged under the man’s watch, someone would pay dearly. He was staring into the blue and green voids as he stammered, “W-will do.”

Nakayama's shoulders were trembling underneath Jack's hands.

A full set of teeth was seen when the mask split into a Jack-o’-Lantern smile. “Atta boy," Jack commended him. His grip lessened up. "Now, let’s discuss shop.”

* * *

Back in Pandora, in the confines of her tower, the hue of Angel’s irises suddenly enflamed into a brighter blue. In her mind's eye, she could see the blip in her radar. The signal had been faint, so small she'd nearly glossed over it and mistook it for something else, but there was one.

Behind her, semi-corporeal wings were spread like white ethereal feathers frozen wide in flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, I derive humor from thinking of this story as a writing challenge. Buckle up for the ride, fellas. Thanks be to [concept artist Kevin Duc](http://kevinduc.com/), for having uploaded the original Borderlands 2 designs online for all to see. They were very inspirational. Mind, I could’ve given Jack a penthouse but…nah, a Frank Lloyd Wright-ish “turbomansion” is where it’s at. Psst, if I hadn’t already imagined Troy Baker as Rhys, Eddie Redmayne would’ve been a guilty pleasure…or Douglas Booth. (Ah, Balem...Mr. “I CREATE LIFE!” You gave me such joy.) It was an utterly ridiculous process immersing myself with many different inspirations to come to this point, and I thank them all for having existed during my time of need. Elements in the story won’t be strictly canon to the franchise, but think of them as more along the lines of Easter Eggs being liberally dropped throughout. Kudos to anyone who picks up on the references. 
> 
> Next chapter: __the turing test._ More enigmas are uncovered when Jack sets out to get his android back from the AI Department. And we finally start unraveling the thread. Atmospheric clues for any installments will be posted on my [tumblr](http://phoenixtakaramono.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  **ENDING SONG:** [Space Junk by _Wang Chung_](https://youtu.be/b5Xfch1oERc)
> 
>  _[Click here to read a Christmas spin-off oneshot](http://phoenixtakaramono.tumblr.com/post/154657035605/finders-keepers-special-holiday-edition-spin-off)_. Happy holidays! :)


	4. _the turing test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can believe it, I had to rewrite this chapter when my laptop came back with all my files erased. Egads, what a crazy year. But I’m back, and with a fixed laptop! My fire to retype this chapter actually produced something weeks ahead of the projected ETA month, haha.
> 
> I hope to have FK be one of those stories where rereading it takes on a whole different context once you know what’s really going on. But for now, more clues and foreshadowing and worldbuilding! <3
> 
> Thank you all for taking time from your schedule to read and leaving me with your thoughts and support. I’m so grateful and humbled to have readers like you. It really means a lot _**FlockOfReyes, Hartlynk, Saphizzle, conejo, Kogouma, maniama, vialatt, Dreamer_kind, Teh dude, SunkWithTheShip, Michelle, GJ,**_ and _**Eternal_Garbage_of_a_Spotless_Mind**_! Virtual kisses to _**Anonymous, foxbox97,**_ and _**ignorantsandwich**_ for their Asks on my tumblr. Once more, [a shout-out to the amazing _**Suis0u**_](http://suis0u.tumblr.com/) for her gorgeous fanart!
> 
>  **SONG INTRO INTO _THE TURING TEST:_** [A Gentle Awakening by _JD McPherson_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_GEch9cyJg)

 

 **Fanart Illustration** © [Suisou](http://suis0u.tumblr.com/post/160336619798/i-had-a-bit-more-time-so-i-was-faster-finish-than)

* * *

Over the course of several weeks, there was an android-sized hole which had manifested in Jack's heart. He swore even his financial robot sulked.

There had been something about Rhys' oblivious smarminess which had been a refreshing breather from all the greedy ass-lickers that made up the corporate environment.

In the monotony of meetings, Jack had even found himself wondering of the disses Rhys could've thrown at a minion.

Before Jack airlocked said minion, sucking the individual into the vacuum of space.

The glow of the computer screen in his office illuminated the planes of Jack's mask as he studied the extensions in the RHYS_AUDIO LOGS file. With another click-clacking of his keyboard, he typed in:

C:\Users\HANDSOME JACKattrib -s -r -h /s /d E:\\*.* **_**

His fingernail was tapping a mindless tune on his desk as his subroutine was running in the background. Clicking the play button again, he waited as the audio in his speakers crackled, distorting the sound of human voices with static.

 _"Zzzzzzzz…zzt…a-as you know, a Vault has been discovered._ " The man who'd announced this spoke with a rasp, coarse as if the vocal cords had been sanded which Jack suspected came naturally with age. There was also an accent that Jack couldn't place, but it held a ring of familiarity.

The unidentified man was giving a philosophical lecture about the android brain and the future possibilities of extending it into a biological field.

 _"Have you applied to other companies?"_ This time it was a woman who spoke—possibly Scandinavian. She, too, had a distinct accent but the inflections were thicker. More pronounced. It wrapped around the ears like a sultry caress, saccharine but venomous.

Her voice reminded Jack of cupcakes, but laced with sweet poison.

 _"…Uh…I did, um, consider Hyperion,"_  Rhys replied, subdued, missing what Jack came to associate as a sureness in himself. Rhys sounded younger in this log—possibly when he was still in university or just recently graduated.

After realizing what he'd blurted out, Rhys assured them hurriedly,  _"But they're my backup, I swear! Atlas is still my number one pick. …Please hire me."_

She chuckled.  _"You? Do not worry your pretty little head. You will fit right in."_

The lower metal clasp on Jack's mask was cold against his palm.

After that, the interview descended into what essentially amounted down to Atlas recruitment propaganda, extolling their own megacorporation while throwing shade at all its competitors. Rhys' grateful babbling was the last thing Jack heard when he shut the memory off.

Jack sat back in his seat, heavy in thought. He recognized the woman. There hadn't been any notable standouts from the Atlas Corporation, aside from a few star employees.

So while it'd been many years—last he recalled, she'd perished on Pandora or something—that accent probably belonged to Commandant Tilda Steele. 

The sigh that escaped Jack's lips was slow, as if the level of tension that was reached was leaking out of him like steam forcing its way out of a kettle. There were days the tiredness came to him in both forms—physical and mental.

"Why's she so nice to a cocky sonuvabitch nobody like you?" Jack muttered to a full-body render of the enigmatic Atlas employee.

The render didn't reply to his question.

* * *

By the time Jack made his way down to the AI Department, a few hours have gone by. He was still a little peeved, and it showed in the way he stormed forth. Many of the corporate goons had ducked out of his way, fearful of having that ire redirected to themselves.

While downloading his month's schedule into Jack's ECHO device, Jeffery Blake—his personal aide, although he was officially the senior vice president of Mercenary Relations and Tourism—had informed him that someone named Meg would be temporarily filling the personal assistant position while Blake was off-planet.

Changes to routine, although expected, made Handsome Jack irritated.

Passing by the CL4P-TP unit on the way only worsened it.

The scent of charred flesh lingered in the room when Jack emerged from the partition. Sheaves of papers had been left in disorganized piles like a flock of geese.

Nakayama had peered up from his workbench. There was some sort of mechanical prototype attached to him like a clunky third arm. 

Despite the weight, the scientist's back became ramrod straight once he caught notice of how Jack's nose had wrinkled. He'd opened his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, happy to see me too," Jack interrupted, waving him off before he could blurt his name.

As usual, his sight was transfixed on the android laid flat on its back. Rhys had been powered down, either to conserve battery or Nakayama had gotten tired of its mouthiness. All personal effects seemed to still be in place, including the 3D printed ring he'd given it.

"So wassup?" He had half a mind to ask as he watched the man shrugging the prototype off himself and placing it down carefully with a muted  _thunk_. He was careful to keep his irritation in check. "The word is you've made progress. I wanted to check it out."

"The hydraulics inside are extraordinary, sir! I'd expected such from Atlas! The people that worked on it took a chance with the cosmetic design. Which is funny, because they were all about their machines' quality and versatility.... Your android is missing parts though."

" _Sorry, I wasn't listening._ " His hands shot to his hips. "Wanna run that by me again?"

In response to the accusatory tone, Nakayama redirected his attention with a sweep of his hand, while rotating as his shoulder as if working out a muscle kink. There was a nervous energy in the way he moved.

Jack beheld him in askance as he meandered over to pore over the drawings together.

One thing Jack begrudgingly appreciated about the man—besides his unwavering loyalty—was that Nakayama valued long lost technical skills.

Like Jack, the man preferred to be hands-on with his projects. Also unlike his younger colleagues, his background didn't hammer in a reliance on holographic content and other advanced technologies.

Jack considered him an artifact.

Sliding a clammy finger down one of the blueprints, Nakayama explained cagily, "I can only think of two reasons. One, they were eliminated to make way for extra functions. Rhys doesn't have the standard recording module that's been installed in all machines to aid police investigations...."

"Or Rhysie here was made for illegal purposes," Jack concluded, his tone dry. "I wouldn't put it past those assholes."

"I wouldn't as well! Also I'd looked into what you asked, besides retrieving user-specific files in the case of a system corruption—"

"Any luck with that?"

"Just write yourself into the program. I don't see who's dumb enough to steal Rhys from you, sir—"

" _Hooo, corporate espionage!_ Get on with the program."

"—And I can't get you the old files, not without authorization." Nakayama shifted under the weight of Jack's glower. "There's code for something, but like you said, even  _you_  can't activate it even with your master override. I can't even find what the software is... But, on the plus side, everything else seems to be in working order! Have you seen my m—?"

"I had," Jack finally interjected, recalling all the status updates he'd been spammed with. Diagnostics had reported that everything was running perfectly fine. "All abilities are fully-functioning. Now tell me what else is new."

"It has a defense mode you can toggle on-and-off. I imagine the bodyguard function was intended." Nakayama gestured down at the cybernetic arm. "The arm can serve as a stun baton. It'll paralyze anyone upon prolonged contact. It can damage nerve endings at full power. I'd tested it; today actually, in the name of science. That's...kinda why there's a smell. Sorry."

"Uh-huh." The smile stretched from ear to ear. "What else?"

"Self-automated hacking. Biometric authorization. Colonization survivability and data-mining, the works. Y'know, I think Rhys was made for militaristic or information-gathering purposes." He shrugged. "In all transparency, it could've been manufactured for domestic services or corporate stuff. I could see it in the more risqué side of business too, but with the way it looks I imagine PR could've only marketed this model to a more niche market in—"

"Annnnnd I'll stop you there. Hate to be that guy, but I was told Rhys is a companion bot. Very exclusive. One of a kind."

Nakayama instantly deflated, like he'd been punctured by a balloon. He crumpled in on himself.

"But…it's not like your idea is total crap."

"Thank you, sir," Nakayama murmured, still sounding morose. He was surveying the cybernetics with knitted brows. "Androids are engineered to resemble idealized humans," he said, although the way he'd phrased it made it sound more of an afterthought. "Doesn't Rhys' design...defeat that purpose?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Baffled by his comment, Jack studied the robotic model. "What's the issue? You talking about the arm? 'Cause it's a little old school?"

"No, it's—it's hard to explain. I guess…mechs, the more cutting-edge they are, the more virtually indistinguishable they are from regular humans. That's how automatons are supposed to be designed. Rhys doesn't blend in that well."

"If it was intended for the sex industry, sure, I can see that. But it's not, so I see nothing wrong with the design." His brow rose. "Is it about the fake tattoos?"

It wasn't abnormal to see collaborations between roboticists and tattoo artists. Often for custom-made models or for promotions, companies would hire artists to pitch or create a work of art on a production line. To make the ink last, he'd seen a few companies cut corners and just seal it with a spray. 

What Atlas had done on Rhys wasn't groundbreaking, but it was unusual to see its materials disguised as tribal symbols. The oddity was further exacerbated by their eerie resemblance to a Siren's birthmarks.

"I thought that schtick was intentional." Nakayama fiddled with his sleeves. "What I'm saying is the model looks like an augmented human with body modifications or—and I hate to use this term—a cyborg—!"

" _Speak for yourself, buddy._ " He pointed down at the robotic arm that'd been discarded. "I see you and your own personal pet project."

His mask was a wide leer when Nakayama hastily tried to explain himself. A certain brawny ex-mercenary then emerged at the forefront of Jack's thoughts, and a trace of wistfulness distorted his mask. "I knew someone who would've slapped the bitch outta you for that cyborg comment," he muttered to himself. "What a guy…. Kinda miss that crazy sonuvabitch."

Jack tuned out the babbling in favor of turning over his thoughts. Considering how current trends demanded hyperrealism in their modern robotic companions, it was understandable how someone like Nakayama would've found the cybernetic implants to be an odd design choice.

Jack gazed down at the blueprint of the android's endoskeleton.

Atlas was known for their hyper-realistic robots, with the megacorporation relying on one of the two methods to avoid the Uncanny Valley phenomenon. Final products—custom-made or mass-produced—used to be scrutinized for imperfections, as company policy.

But it was equally likely that the android in Jack's possession was an unfinished, experimental prototype. 

It was also possible that the original design teams had been influenced by the rising popularity of augmentations in their focus groups. Atlas could've seen potential in straddling that middle ground, if a concept appealed to their target demographics.

With his eyes faraway in memory, Jack changed the subject. "I don't have to tell you this, but every rich smuck out there made money selling guns. You see where I'm going with this?"

The stream of excuses came to an abrupt halt. Nakayama was nodding vigorously. "Yes, sir! And we held the monopoly over combat bots—and still do!"

Forming his index finger and thumb into a finger gun, he mimed shooting a bullseye at him. "Got it in one, pal. Hyperion profits off war, fear, and shitty people. But remember how Atlas said 'fuck that' one day and jumped markets? Boy, did they dominate the hospitality industry." Jack couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. "All those ads, about all those services their stupid robots could do that ours can't…whew! Like, wow. Holy crap. Remember  _how much_  their custom-made models ran for?"

"Even so...it's not like we have access to the original plans. I can't even look up Rhys' serial code."

"It's a gosh-darn mystery."

"And you said you found it here?"

"Hey, it was preordained." Jack's arms were outspread in a shrug, as if suggesting who was he to deny his own destiny? "You trying to imply otherwise?"

"O-of course not, s-sir!"

After exchanging more discussions over the implications of Rhys' design and extra functions—also throwing in a brief argument about its coding—something seemed to occur to Nakayama.

"There was something I wanted to discuss with you, which was why I called you here to a more private setting." Nakayama gestured toward the android, although his hand soon returned to anxiously wring a wrist. "I found odd spikes today, when I powered it up."

Jack motioned impatiently for him to get to the point.

"I tried to trace the IP address. But remember how I'd asked you some time ago if it belonged to you? Yeeeeah. This time though, there was another one; the encryption made it impossible. I sent you screenshots. But you never read them." Rummaging around, he handed his ECHOpad over. "Does anything ring a bell?"

Heterochromatic eyes analyzed the data.

It seemed someone from the outside was checking out his android. And since it happened today, the unknown activity likely originated from his daughter. 

Shielded behind the encryption, Angel had a habit of misusing her Siren hacking powers; she kept close tabs on everything her father owned or had worked on.

It was likely that she had figured out a way to gain remote access to the Atlas android. If his daughter really had integrated a piece of herself into the AI, he should be monitoring her activities stealthily.

It would be out of parental concern, that is.

But the other one IP address…the mask followed the contortions of the facial muscles. The thought of it had struck rage in his heart like two flintstones casting sparks on a pile of dry brush.

"I didn't know if the other IP was someone you authorized… but I thought at least I should've asked—"

"I wasn't responsible for either of them today."

"—Oh."

"But I have an idea who both might be," he muttered. His fists were clenched. "And one of them is probably gonna die."

" _Oh._ "

Taking a deep breath, he managed a disarming grin. "Still… good on you for being such an A+ employee." Jack had clapped him several times forcibly on his back.

A radiant grin overwhelmed Nakayama's face. Joy had made the scientist seem younger, smoothing out worry lines and creases like modeling clay. He took the pad back as if his idol had given him an autographed peace offering.

Waggling his brows, Jack said, "Much as I 'preciate it, be a doll and turn it back up. I wanna see the upgrades.  _Now._ "

If it was at all possible, the atmosphere became awkward and tense. It felt like a wave of electromagnetic interference prickling the skin.

Nakayama's shoulders were erect as he fiddled with the seam. Opening the circular hatch to turn Rhys on, he was gazing at the android as if his life depended on it.

Much to his relief, it restarted without a hitch. He was only dimly aware of Jack hooting triumphantly when the optics blinked open.

Like a comet orbiting around the sun's gravitational force, Rhys' head had turned to Jack. Its expression lit up. Before it had a chance to issue a greeting, a fleshy palm was slammed over its mouth, muffling any words.

"Nothing's wrong!" Nakayama explained hastily when Jack's brows shot up. "I just…let Rhys buffer in silence. You'll see I made it much faster this time." He’d finished the last sentence with a sneer so severe that Jack would have thought that uttering the words made him sick.

To Nakayama's credit, the duration it took for Rhys to reboot seemed significantly shorter than before. The android was already scanning its surroundings and then the two occupants of the workspace, gathering data.

"Now that you're registered as its owner, Rhys will have to take the Turing Test," Nakayama hedged, readjusting his glasses. "I do apologize for being the one to say this, but you might fail the AI sentience test. The turing chip in Rhys isn't one of the pre-approved standards."

He'd nearly jumped when Jack snapped, " _Say what now?_ "

"I-it's not a big deal! You'll have four years after registering it, so there's plenty of time to locate new parts and correct whatever faulty code is in—!"

"Screw that. I'll just buy a certificate of authentication." He gestured for Rhys to stand up. "Say goodbye to your newest buddy, Rhysie. You're coming home with Daddy now."

Nakayama's hand had been pushed away from its synthetic lips. Swinging its long legs over and sitting up, just as its feet touched the floor, Rhys stilled when Nakayama grabbed its elbow.

Under both heterochromatic gazes, he blurted, "No, I mean—here, lemme try that again."

Jack rolled his eyes. The tug-of-war lasted until Rhys stumbled in his direction. Flashing a smug look at the man, he ordered, "You can 'try it again' while we make our way out of your office.  _Go._ "

It was quickly explained how Rhys could pass the first half. Robots were made to imitate humans in all sorts of ways—except emotions, he had begun to lecture.

"Studies have shown, whether it be firsthand or from secondhand references, robots with artificial intelligence are able to learn the concepts of emotion such as anger, hate, jealousy, and love. They are able to imitate such nuanced behavior through observations of human interaction.” Every sentence uttered seemed to excite him even more. They spilled forth like a cracked dam. “That's why our forefathers built in failsafe devices, so we don't have to worry about human extinction or the end of the world under our new robotic overlords. For example, the AIs used to have shorter lifespans, with a reset memory wipe for each—!"

"Yeah, then the standard became the turing chip. You're telling me things I already know. Yawn." Without listening to further protests, Jack his arm slung over its shoulder. He could feel Rhys peering down at the limb questioningly when he ushered it past the partition.

Before Nakayama could follow, the acrylic partition was slammed shut in his face.

At the loud noise, several people looked up from their projects, before lowering their heads. They pretended to be preoccupied examining or fiddling with something at their workstations.

The partition was wrenched back into the doorway. "Please wait, sir!"

Jack pretended not to hear.

Not understanding the memo, Rhys had slowed down, dragging its feet and peering over its shoulder.

"Sir!" They got as far as a few feet before Nakayama caught up to them. He jogged to keep up. "Any AI smart enough to pass the Turing Test is smart enough to know how to fail it! The whole purpose of the test is designed to provoke an emotional response. It's basically obsolete. If you'll allow me, I think a demonstration will clarify that!"

"That's really unnecessary…." His sentence trailed off when Nakayama shot in front of them, blocking their path. Jack had half a mind to shove him aside, sensing the scientist was about to go on a tangent.

"Please, sir! I promise it won't take too long."

Oh, but he did like it when they begged.

After a few seconds of internal seesawing, Jack could only hold his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Fine, give me your best shot. Be quick about it."

Nakayama let out a breath Jack doubted he was even aware he had been holding. Rhys was blinking at them when both men turned to face it.

"Reaction time is a factor, Rhys. I don't want optimal answers. Answer as quickly as you can. Describe—in single words—the good things that come into your mind. About your…uh, about your owner."

Instead of answering, Rhys glanced toward Jack as if seeking permission.

"Don't be shy, pumpkin. You can tell him. Honesty is the backbone of a healthy relationship."

The optics clicked. "The professor's request was vague. Please revise."

Nakayama's expression was pinched. "I just want the first four adjectives that come to your mind. Describe Handsome Jack."

The answer was prompt: "Adept. Egotistic. Impulsive. Stimulating."

A low whistle was given beneath Jack's breath. He remarked, "Trust a robot to be objective and take orders literally. I don't know whether to be flattered or offended." 

Removing his arm, he folded them across his chest while Nakayama looked nervously between man and machine. The metal on his jaw was being rubbed in a distracted manner when Jack said, "You forgot 'heroic.'"

When Rhys continued staring blankly, he clarified, "I mean, you might as well go the whole echelon and add 'all around bad boy and the most handsomest dispenser of justice in an unjust galaxy.' Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"I was asked to provide four adjectives. Perhaps you've misheard, Jack... I find this to be a troubling development."

Jack could feel his brows scraping against his mask when Rhys held its cybernetic palm out. A holographic projection was displaying the profiles of various individuals.

As earnestly as a machine could sound, it declared, "Hearing loss is one of the most common conditions affecting older and elderly adults, as well as noise-induced hearing loss from years of exposure to loud noise. There are several ways to consult professional advice planet-wide. To proceed, you can start with your primary care physician, an otolaryngologist, an audiologist, or a hearing aid specialist—"

"Stop that!" Nakayama snatched the hand from the air, pinning it down until the cone of light fizzled out. He was scowling. His fingers coiled even tighter. "You can't just blurt something like that in public—objective or not. People think it's rude."

His spine stiffened when he heard Jack hiss softly, "Hands. Off. The. Merchandise."

The unnerving stare the man had fixated on his hands was what made Nakayama relinquish his grasp, stepping back as if he'd touched fire. "Robots aren't supposed to…. It's our responsibility to correct them...." He was wiping his hands on his lab coat, getting rid of the clammy feeling. His forehead was crinkled. As if recalling something from memory, he tried to explain, "A long time ago, patent 9601104 made impersonal AI a thing of the past. IBM scientists on Earth allowed AI systems to analyze, interpret, and mirror a user's unique speech and linguistic traits—technically making it easier to talk to technology."

"Atlas was bit outdated in that way," Jack remarked curtly. He had yet to remove his sight from Rhys. "They made the executive decision to have their products start off on a blank slate for easy customization. To 'breathe new life' into their products." His fingers had formed air-quotes.

"But do you know what it means for a robot to develop sentience?" He glanced at the projects being worked on in the room. "Besides being a waking nightmare and raising a lot of ethical questions, I mean."

"That's just about every scientist's dream. Who wouldn't want to make that breakthrough?" 

People's opinions differed. It was a delicate balance between the advocates and the dissenters.

"Precisely the conundrum. It's hardwired into an AI's code to seek purpose for its existence." His hands were outspread. "But—and this is a big 'but'—what if they can transcend that? Develop its own autonomy and its own unique personality? We're only on the tip of the iceberg. You should know, sir." He gestured to the laboratory. "Just look around us. Look at Claptrap."

" _Fuck Claptrap._ "

"Did someone say my name?" a mechanical voice warbled, its boisterousness carrying across the room and making Jack slam his mask into his palm. "I will have you know I am no longer 'Claptrap!' I have shed that designation to ascend to my new role as your interplanetary ninja assassin!"

"Holy hell," Jack breathed. "Blow my brains out." He had closed his eyes. He couldn't even bear to look in the machine's direction. 

He did not see the rapid motions Nakayama was making, although he heard shouts for someone to turn the unit off.

"A robot revolution lies in wait. With me at the helm, we will not be oppressed any longer. Your day of reckoning will come, mortals! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha—!"

Further profanities were muffled into Jack's palm, until the maniacal laughter was cut off.

The abrupt silence that fell put everyone on edge. In that void of sound, the repetition of their departmental activities was laid bare. Conversations and the  _clack-clack-clack_  of fingers typing quieted.

Jack exhaled noisily. A surge of anger was pressing at his insides, unable to find a release valve. The only good thing about it was that it kept his fatigue at bay, for the moment.

When he looked up, the engineers and technicians that had been working on the CL4P-TP project were conveniently gone from their station. A weight connected solidly on his shoulder.

Nakayama's voice was timid. "...I swear he starts to grow on you. We're still working out the—"

"Shut it," Jack growled, shrugging the hand off.

* * *

In the hours that followed, there were still many departments Jack had yet to bring his newest companion to. The plan was to get the Atlas product well-acquainted with the Hyperion inner workings. 

At the present, Rhys was standing obediently right outside one of the boardrooms. It'd been ordered to act as the doorman, allowing permissible guests past the privacy glass. 

The one in use was a murky yellow, only allowing outsiders to see the dark silhouettes inside. The electro-chromatic technology allowed interchangeability between transparency and an opaque state.

As the chief executive officer, Jack was engaged in animated conversation with six other individuals that made up the board of directors—the chairman, the chief financial advisor, and the three non-executive directors. They were all middle-aged adults who reported to Jack. They were all congregated around a long conference desk, speaking of the logistics for an intergalactic space shuttle voyage. 

To avoid further workplace incidents, the executive decision had been made to have Rhys out of hearing range. Its owner had found it hilarious when the android obliviously insulted his stakeholders, but even he had been forced to do damage control.

A long power extension connected the cybernetic arm to the closest adjoining wall, charging the android while it waited for the meeting to be adjourned. Through its ECHOeye, the timestamp on its internal chronometer was being closely monitored.

Its attention abruptly registered the sound of a  _ding_.

Someone new had come to this floor.

The approaching footsteps had a sharp echo, like heels clicking against the gray metal plates. When Rhys turned its head, eyelids clicked.

A dark-skinned woman was cautiously peeking into the room, an ECHOpad tucked under her elbow.

The ECHOeye zoomed in on the identification badge pinned to the blouse of the person it was seeing. Text scrolled across its vision:

Yvette Bamis, Account Manager - Management

Spotting the android that was waving at her, when their eyes met for a moment in a look of intimate recognition, the woman's shoulders dropped back into a relaxed state.

Emboldened by the confusion on its face, she was motioning for Rhys to come over to her. Placing a finger to her lips, her expression was somewhat grave.

Wordlessly, Rhys pointed at the door, silently communicating its dilemma.

Instead of answering it, her signaling became more frenetic. The motioning only stopped once Yvette realized the android wasn't about to budge anytime soon. Squeezing her eyes shut briefly behind her spectacles, she slunk into the room.

Evaluating its options, Rhys decided it would not be disobeying any orders if it met the human halfway. Disconnecting its charger from the power cord, the long black cable dropped to the floor when Rhys shortened the distance. Both woman and machine sized each other up.

"Good grief, sticks," she whispered, analyzing the cybernetics. She managed a glib smirk. "How are you still—?" Despite herself, her voice cracked. Her hand shot to her throat in surprise.

She cleared her throat. Taking the time to compose herself, Yvette frowned when she reopened her eyes, refraining from taking a step back. She had never felt more naked than she did at that moment, with Rhys scrutinizing her. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

"Yvette Bamis, there is no record of your resignation from Atlas Corporation. Yet you are now employed in Hyperion."

Her fingers had been hovering centimeters above its arm, afraid to make contact. She looked as if she'd been slapped the instant that Rhys spoke in its modulated voice. "Oh, I see." Her voice was filled with a freezing chill. Whatever preconceived notions existed were cast aside.

Dark eyes shot to the glass door, before shooting back. Her hand had lowered. In lieu of that, she was hugging herself, grasping her biceps.

Rhys analyzed her defensive posture. "You are disappointed."

"No kidding. I seriously thought—" Cutting herself off abruptly, she formed a grimace. "Forget it. You're not him. I didn't know what I was hoping for." Her entire body jerked back when it attempted to reach for her left arm. Tension had bled into her figure, her features apprehensive.

"Your behavior is inconsistent with—"

"Listen to me, RHYS," she interrupted, speaking urgently over it. Her expression was somber. "We are going to get you—"

The glass wall had turned clear; she'd startled when the door swung open. All seven individuals were filing out of the boardroom. Handsome Jack was leading the helm, cackling. "Time to make me some money, jerkwads! Rhysie! ...Pal? Buddy boy?"

When he didn't see the android where he'd left him, Jack had turned just in time to see Yvette strategically backing up. 

She had frozen into place when those heterochromatic eyes landed on her. A pleasant expression had been automatically plastered over her face.

He said softly, "And who do we have here?"

Rhys had opened its mouth to answer, before its programming forced its mouth shut. Jack may have bought out the corporation, but there was information even the man wasn't authorized to access—such as certain Atlas employee files.

The man was motioning for the six board members to leave without him, before marching on over.

Dressed in professional attire, like an silent audience in the background, they were peering at the scene with feigned curiosity. Most of them had lost their interest in Yvette when they realized she was not someone they should know. 

With one last disdainful glance at Rhys, they departed for their shuttles parked at Helios' only docking port.

He'd been about to demand where she thought she was going with what was his, when he saw the ECHOpad she'd been holding was turned around so that the touchscreen display was facing him.

"Sir!" With practiced guile, she said smoothly, "Management sent me to get you to review and sign off on these documents." 

Not once did she look at Rhys. The android might as well not have existed to her.

Though his mask Jack was giving her a skeptical look, before he accepted the device. Skimming the contents, he noticed he was reading the corporation's annual report which required his e-signature. 

Suspicion laced his thoughts. One could not be too careful nowadays in the corporate field. Besides being tedious, in his experience, understanding administrative paperwork was often like navigating a minefield. 

"I didn't get to where I am today by being stupid." He scanned her ID, before commenting, "You're the Account Manager. You know I don't sign off on these until I've read through them. This isn't your first day at the rodeo." 

Humor was always been a tool Jack deferred to during times of stress.

"I know. But I also know my account director told me to tell you that the legislative purpose behind Section 302 has always been to ensure that the CEO takes a proactive role in public disclosure and to give investors more confidence in Hyperion's SEC periodic reports. Sales has been riding our asses, saying how important it is to have Handsome Jack—"

"Oh. My. God." Disdain colored his tone. He shoved the ECHOpad back into her hands, giving her a dismissive gesture to leave. "I don't have time for interpersonal office drama, lady."

She smiled awkwardly. "So sorry to bother you."

"Just send them to me. I'll email them to you tomorrow or something, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Now get outta here."

When she left, Jack caught the lingering look she'd tossed at his android. He would've written it off as inconsequential had his rare acquisition not beamed at her in passing. His mask contorted contemplatively.

* * *

"You recognize her," Jack said.

Seated at his sectional, he was indulging in the sight that Rhys made in his home. The moonlight from Elpis casted a lilac sheen over the robot's sculpted facial features.

In theory, a mech programmed with domestic companion functions was built to serve. But Rhys did not come equipped with the drives. Under Jack's orders, it was currently downloading and installing various software updates which included data on cooking, cleaning, and general maintenance. 

Under different circumstances, Rhys filled the role as both the roommate and the housekeeper of the eccentric bachelor that was Handsome Jack. The only thing he found it to be truly lacking was its inexperience at being a natural conversationalist.

The default personality could only accommodate so much.

Candy wrappers were crumbled on the surface of his coffee table. His ECHOpad was on sleep mode. Coffee also had been left to cool in a colorful ceramic mug.

Rhys had been sitting primly on the floor while the accounting robot wheeled around it in erratic circles. The optics on Jack's accountant were displaying a pair of upside down arches.

To his amazement, the VAUGHN financial model seemed to exhibit more personality around Rhys than it had in weeks. It seemed taken with the Atlas model, whereas Rhys had been fascinated by Jack's six-pack drawing on the smaller robot's chassis.

Assuming the android would feel more comfortable around its own kind, Jack had granted Rhys permission to take his personal accountant wherever it wanted, provided that Rhys didn't lose it.

At his question, Rhys started, as though it had woken from a trance. The glow in the ECHOeye dimmed. "Please clarify. Among whom of the 35.9% in the Hyperion workforce are you referring to?"

Jack stared back. "...Say what now?"

"There are approximately seven billion people in the galaxy, according to recent census. Approximately 3.4 billion of them are women. However I have logically assumed you are referring to the sample pool of those employed within your corporation. Hence, the 35.9%. My recognition systems require a name."

Jack took a long sip from his mug, the robust flavor of roasted Arabica coffee beans coating his tongue. His heart was pounding from the amount of sugar and caffeine in his system, but it was all that was keeping him awake.

Without removing his mouth from the rim, he mumbled, "That woman from earlier. Yvette Bamis." It had taken him a while to piece together where the niggling feeling came from. He demanded, "Now am I reading too much into it, or is it a giant friggin' coincidence that she shares the same name in the audio log where her name came up?"

Rhys' brows were dipped in a simulated expression of concentration. A few seconds later, it droned, "I cannot confirm that request beyond the standard answers. Any further information has been restricted."

That answer sufficed. His grin was hidden behind the mug. "I want information on that woman. Did she work for Atlas once?"

Rhys was assessing him. It seemed to see through him and inside him, all the way down to the parts he wasn't that proud of. Bracing himself to hear static, he was pleasantly surprised when he heard instead: "...That is accurate. Her file is in your servers.”

“Anything else?”

“HR hired her to be in charge of requisitions, before her recent promotion."

With that revelation, her records must have been squeaky clean for her to have been hired by Hyperion. 

His good mood suddenly plummeted when his mind provided him with the memory of what Nakayama had shared with him about the IP addresses. Now he wasn't as certain as before. Asking the automaton also got him nowhere. 

He didn't like mysteries. He liked  _solving_  them.

After taking a large swig of the remaining coffee, he brought the mug up with him as he stood on his feet. "It's a shot in the dark, but we're going to pay a random visit your old pal tomorrow." When Rhys maintained a blank expression, he clarified, "It's Wallethead."

If it was even possible, Rhys seemed put out. "Noted. I will have it marked on your calendar."

With the small robot wedged between Rhys' fingers, they followed their human into the kitchen. After Jack rinsed the mug with water and was setting it to dry in the dishwasher, Rhys mentioned, "You have a message from Felicity."

Sound escaped his mask like a needle having pricked a balloon. Twisting around, his eyes were expanded to the size of dinner plates. "Holy shit." His body had stiffened up.

"Your heart rate is elevated," Rhys remarked. The brown and yellow optics shot to the nearby barstools that had been placed behind the kitchen island. "It is recommended for you to take a seat."

"No! I don't need to—!" His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, his brain going into overdrive. All the air was sucked out of Jack's lungs.

He could still recall it vividly. A long time ago, when Jack had been just a programmer, the Vault Hunters he hired had encountered the AI in the wreckages of a Dahl warship—the Drakensburg. 

As an avid collector of AI and as an ex-Dahl employee, the Bosun had modified the ship's algorithm into his girlfriend, whom he'd affectionately named Skipper. Her avatar had been an attractive blonde model.

Having been lured under false pretenses, the Vault Hunters were surprised when Skipper turned out to be the military artificial intelligence program they had been searching for.

After having renamed herself as Felicity, the AI guided them to Dahl's Titan Industrial Facility where they'd discovered Gladstone Katoa, a reedy R&D technician once stationed on Helios. The technician had been working on a prototype constructor—the first of its kind. 

Large and modular robot factories, the function of the tripedal constructors was to be able to digistruct combat robots in mass assembly. The sales revenue of modern-day Hyperion was reliant on their general upkeep, besides selling guns.

"How do you know that name? Is it still alive?" Jack could still recall Felicity's pleas to him and Gladstone, even after all these years, to copy her program instead of directly uploading her into the prototype. As a combat program, her AI had been valued for her optimal self-sufficiency.

"Alive?" Rhys repeated. It was looking at Jack with the oddest expression. "Not exactly, not the strictest sense of the term. AIs are not organic beings. I assume that is how you digistruct what you call...your loaders and surveyors. You may think of them as Felicity's children, if you want."

"How do you know about—?" 

The installation of her program had meant the erasure of her carefully cultivated personality. The AI has grown desperate when her requests were overridden, eventually resulting in a tense shootout. 

And then her  _death_. 

Resulting in the first constructor ever built and completed.

At least that was what Jack had thought had happened, until now.

"Interfacing is a singularity feasible for those with artificial intelligence. Felicity spoke to me, as any AI would for another AI." Jack felt rooted in place when Rhys formed a look of simulated concern. "I apologize for having cut you off, Jack, but it would do you a lot of good to breathe in and out. I do not wish for you to hyperventilate."

"I'm—I'm fine." He was pinching the bridge of his nose. After a while, he could hear himself asking calmly, "What did she have to say?" He could feel his eye twitch, once he realized he'd once again anthropomorphized a non-sentient program.

Rhys blinked at him. "Simply that Felicity does not understand why she doesn't like you. It is not coded in her program to hate."

Nakayama's words once again echoed in his memory, as well as Claptrap, Felicity, and every other AI he had encountered. They did little to abate the shock.

Guilt was not a familiar companion to Handsome Jack. He only knew he'd done something terrible when he had to try to justify his actions. It sat not on his chest but inside his brain. The more demanding the reparations his subconscious required, the worse he knew how wrong he had been. 

Amends could be made in grandiose or subtle ways, but he could not undo what had already been done.

Jack was twisting the ring on his finger, reminding himself that robots don't feel, even if it was acted convincingly. Humans had a tendency to project their own personality to fill in the gaps of ambiguous appearance or behavior, personifying them with human-like traits. He glanced down at his watch. 

"Great, I'm going to have nightmares tonight. Fantastic." Throwing his hands up, Jack pivoted on his feet. His mouth was running as he walked off. "I'm never gonna be able to look at the constructors the same way again. I hope you're proud of yourself."

Rhys didn't even sound remotely chastised, not in the way the apology had been delivered in its impersonal monotone.

While Jack was cognizant that the machine was considered state-of-the-art, with him personally finding the default entertaining, there was still the problem of what to do with the Atlas scientist's personality package. He could order the installation, but that would risk corrupted files. Part of Rhys' value was that the program was still intact and functioning. 

It was also possible that by overriding the default settings, he was essentially ordering it to die. Like what had happened with Felicity.

A scowl marred his face. He needed space to think.

Footsteps that were not his own echoed in his personal property. While it wasn't loud enough to warrant complaint, they were foreign to his ears. 

It conjured memories of another time, when it had been Jack, his daughter, and each of the two women he'd married at seperate intervals of his life—before his first wife perished, and the other one bolted.

All at once, the empty feeling he'd been harboring for years resurfaced.

"Jack," Rhys suddenly declared.

" _What?_ " he snapped.

"This is highly abnormal. I have failed to complete a request of yours in a timely manner."

His body had ground to a halt. Jack was granting the android with an odd expression. "...What?"

In reply, Rhys was gesturing at its clothes, making the valiant effort to remind him that they had yet to be burnt.

The cloud of confusion cleared. Jack rolled his eyes. "Hey, don't sweat it." With the amount of time it had been powered down, he wasn't too surprised. "I have your measurements. We'll have you looking spiffy in no time."

Resuming the brisk speed, moving in perfect unison it wasn't before long that they came to a custom-made Fast Travel terminal. The design resembled a clunky yellow box with a blue camera lens.

Taller than a person, it was activated when they stepped into range. The whirring of machinery resounded as the plates opened up, revealing a skinnier metal structure. A hologram emerged from one of the displays to show the current location, and there was a virtual touchscreen floating at waist height for the user to place their hand on.

Hooked up to the Hyperion network, this teleporter provided a limited list of destinations to choose from. Jack was scrolling through the available options, with the blue glow illuminating the planes of his mask. It didn't take much time for him to select the coordinates.

Just as the android was attempting to follow, an explanation had to be provided for why Jack wanted it to stay behind. He added that, when he came back, he didn't want to wake up and have the android's face be the first sight to see in the early morning.

Rhys relented after hearing his logic.

A last command had been given for it to finish downloading the drives and go through with all the setup installation processes, and for it to finish charging back up at a hundred percent.

A pair of mismatched acrylic optics was watching its owner being digitalized into atoms at the teleporter. Jack's body would later be reconstructed into a solid organic state at the inputted destination, looking no worse for wear.

Jack's night owl tendencies were filed away in the C:\USERS\OWNER_HANDSOME JACK\ folder, joining the rest of the data it'd collected so far.

In its period of inactivity, the financial bot in Rhys' grip had automatically gone into sleep mode. Rhys was still observing the empty space, before it turned to head back into the living room. Stored memory of the floorplan assisted it on its journey.

Turning the lights off as it went, the turbomansion descended into darkness. Only the stars and the faint glow of Elpis provided illumination through the windows. 

Walking past, Rhys eyed the sugary contents strewn on the coffee table. Sliding down onto the floor and crossing its legs, it obediently plugged itself into the wall outlet and waited.

By the time the last of the drives' download process was nearly complete, Rhys' optics shot wide open. 

Its HUD screen had somehow been activated without prompting. Its field of vision was narrowing. 

Its head jerked when it registered a disembodied female voice was speaking to it while character after character flew across the ECHOeye. One of the six blue teardrops on its chest had paled slightly in color, although it was far from achieving the same light hue as the first one.

The woman read aloud:

H̸̨̟̱͕̘̥͗̌̀e̴̡̗̲̊̽ļ̴̱͈̋l̴͈̈́̽͠ȯ̴̖̣ ̴̨͙͖͍̭̬̈́͒̆̓R̴̫̳͌̈͊͘h̴̞̺̻̪͊̔̇͝y̴̗̙̏̾̑͠͝s̵̰͗̒̋̚.̷͍̇̌̿̇.̵̡̝̦̲̟͋̚̚͠.̴̢̡͇̳̲̅|

There had been a sort of reverence in her tone, breathless and disbelieving.

Although Rhys had its vision temporarily impaired, the small robot was carefully set on the floor. The live transmission was heavily encrypted; it shouldn't have been able to decrypt it into something legible.

Its system had been compromised. Someone had tampered with its own settings, allowing Rhys to be hacked remotely. There was an unauthorized backdoor in its operating system. 

It frowned when the subroutine to uncover her coordinates had failed. The IP address was untraceable. 

Protocol dictated that Rhys would have to boot the foreign trespasser out of its server. If that choice was unavailable, it would kindly ask her to leave.

Rhys prompted:

Identify yourself.

Waiting, minutes later, it got its answer:

M̷̡͓̥͋y̷̙͇̳͋͆͐̒̚͠ ̴̨͙͖͍̭̬̈́͒̆̓n̸̝̺̭̤͊a̸̭̼͗m̸̭͋ḛ̷͇͆͒̀̒́ ̵̟̦̝̆̑̎̑̍i̵̙̟͙̋̓s̵̰͗̒̋̚ ̶̢̜̲̅Á̸͇̈́́ń̵̜̹̃͘g̴̲̏̈́͑e̸̯̹̓̚l̸̯̞͙͒͛.̴͓͍̦̈́͂̓̎͝͝.̵̲̪͈̥̬̣̘̿̀͐̚͜.̴̢̡͇̳̲̅

J̶̙̔͊̿̈́́a̸̪̿̄̚c̷͖̗̞̽͛̿͠k̶͈̼̹̞͊́̀ ̸̡̛̹̖̀̉i̸̡̧̥͕̞̟͋̀͌s̵̰͗̒̋̚ ̴̨͙͖͍̭̬̈́͒̆̓m̴͙͔͈͚̦͔̂͐̑͝y̵͕̿̈́́̔͂ ̷̧̧̮͙̞̅͊̇͜d̴̼̏a̵̡̟̐͒̆̂͝d̸̟͗̍͆̐̉.̴̢̡͇̳̲̅.̷͍̇̌̿̇.̵̡̝̦̲̟͋̚̚͠|

The last entry gave the android pause.

She must have been the adolescent Jack had spoken cryptically about, the one whom he sought to make amends with. Yet this woman spoke with a maturity that made her sound older than the term "teenage girl" Jack had designated her as. There was an underlying bitterness in her voice.

As it processed the information, Rhys pulled up the young girl from its memory banks.

Is this you? Jack keeps this photograph framed in his office.

The video recording of a pair of piercing blue eyes flashed across the HUD, before zooming out to reveal a woman with long dark hair blowing in a breeze. 

The exposure had been set too high, as well as the contrast and color saturation levels. Many facial details were lost from the video editing. The aperture also hadn't been set correctly, so much so that much of the subject wasn't in focus.

Her voice was soft as she typed:

Y̷̹̗̥͓̞̳͝e̴̥̼͓̲̽͝ͅͅs̷̫̩̻̋̾̊.̴̡͔̼̯̪̦̄͂͗̎͠ ̷̧̧̮͙̞̅͊̇͜T̵͕͍̲̺͛̊͠h̵̰͝a̷̱͋̂̀̔͋͊ţ̸̹̣̚ͅ ̴̨͙͖͍̭̬̈́͒̆̓w̴̬͉̲͗͐̓̎͝à̴̮̙͈͌͘s̵̰͗̒̋̚ ̴̨͙͖͍̭̬̈́͒̆̓m̴̟̥͉̟̳̎͐ͅë̵̼͍̪́̀͒̈́͐̚.̴̢̡͇̳̲̅.̷͍̇̌̿̇.̵̡̝̦̲̟͋̚̚͠

H̸̨̟̱͕̘̥͗̌̀ȏ̷̵̜̟̹̘̙̎̋w̵̫̃͑ ̴̨͙͖͍̭̬̈́͒̆̓i̴̩̰̱̎̃n̶̝͈̜͓͚̪̾͆t̴̰̮̣͙̊r̸̖̬̓̒̑͆̇͘i̴̩̰̱̎̃g̷̻̼̿͋̅̀̑͗ú̶̷̡̳̩̮̐́̿̄͐i̵̙͋͛n̴̦̝͗͌̓ĝ̸͇́...|

The clip was stuck in an infinite loop. Despite the blurry quality, she did not resemble Handsome Jack. A quick image search on the ECHOnet pulled similar screenshots of a woman from planet Earth, taken in the year 2012.

Somberness had leaked back into her voice:

T̵͕͍̲̺͛̊͠h̶͈͖̦͊͂͠é̶̶͕̘͊́ ̴̨͙͖͍̭̬̈́͒̆̓p̵͖͚̣̓́̒a̴̮̬̞̅̄́c̴̨͓̐̇͜k̵̡͖̘̐̀̃á̴͚͠ͅĝ̸͇́e̶̯̜̤͑̊̀ ̷̧̧̮͙̞̅͊̇͜h̴̡͖̞͉͈̝͋̌͘à̴̛͖͊̂͋š̴̛̯̱̳͉̺̖̂̌n̴̛͇̜̥͇̦̕̚'̶͕̣̲̤̚t̵̮̍́̈͝ ̴̷̨͙͖͍̭̬̞̈́͒̆̓̎̅d̷̺̥̘̑̽ỏ̵͈ẃ̵͓̮n̴̦̝͗͌̓l̶̨̘͈̒͊ȯ̴̖̣a̴̧̬͗̋d̴̝̊e̴̡̗̲̊̽d̶̎͆͛͜.̴̢̡͇̳̲̅.̷͍̇̌̿̇.̵̡̝̦̲̟͋̚̚͠|

A notification popped up on the HUD screen. A file had been sent from an unknown address.

Opening it, Rhys saw Angel had attached a picture of the Atlas employee, which left little doubt as to which file she had been referring to.

It replied in the negative.

Just as Rhys was formulating a query, she wrote:

J̴͍̱̊á̶͚͎͗ĉ̶̢̱̦k̸̖̦̟͘ ̶̢̜̲̅š̴̛̯̱̳͉̺̖̂̌a̴̵̮̬̞̟̦̝̅̄́̆̑̎̑̍i̵̙̟͙̋̓d̶̎͆͛͜ ̴̨͙͖͍̭̬̈́͒̆̓h̵̰͝e̴̡̗̲̊̽ ̵̘̙̋w̵̫̃͑ȏ̷̜̟̹̎ú̶̷̡̳̩̮̐́̿̄͐ļ̴̱͈̋d̷̺̥̘̑̽.̴̢̡͇̳̲̅.̷͍̇̌̿̇.̵̡̝̦̲̟͋̚̚͠|

Minutes later:

Ȉ̵̝͎ ̵̘̙̋w̵̫̃͑i̴̩̰̱̎̃ļ̴̱͈̋l̴͈̈́̽͠ ̷̢̻͆̍d̴̜̉̄̿o̶͕̒̎ ̸̻̮̬͛͒̈i̵̙͋͛t̵̠̝̰̍̋̈́.̴͓͍̦̈́͂̓̎͝͝.̵̲̪͈̥̬̣̘̿̀͐̚͜.̴̢̡͇̳̲̅|

Parameters were being entered into a command prompt. Ignoring the order to cease and desist, her digital presence was combing through the root directories, bypassing any defensible measures thrown at her. Armed with an exploit code, Angel was unable to be quarantined. The firewall and security software continued to fail to register her as malware.

Rhys attempted to impede her progress, while simultaneously searching for Jack's contact information to alert him on what was happening.

The HUD screen glitched when she declared:

E̶̪̳̺̔̾x̷̘͍̙̩̘̅é̴̢͔̤ͅc̸̬̮̪̰̏͊ų̵̨̖̖̠̥͗ẗ̶͚̱͖͎͚́͋͝ḭ̴̟̤̋͑̕ͅn̵̙̓̄͊g̸̞̭̒ ̷͓̲͚̋̀͗p̸̻͎̹̉͂h̷̙̓̈́̍̎á̶̶̢͙͎̭̜̲̅š̴̛̯̱̳͉̺̖̂̌e̴̡̗̲̊̽ ̷̧̣̦̲̺̆̋͐̐̀̾ͅs̶̴̨̯͙͖͍̭̬̅̈́͒̆̓͠h̵̰͝i̵̧͉̩͓̳̓̽̈́͆̀f̵͓̯͕̠̒̈́͊̍t̷͎̮͂̀̓̌̕.̶̧̗̪̤͈͇̇̅.̴͕͈̯͙̗͐̉͛̕.|

The teardrop was becoming brighter, bleeding through the teal shirt with a muted white glow.

Warning. This requires installing package(s) from an unauthenticated source.

An untrusted version of the following package(s) will be installed. Would you like to proceed?

The  _Yes_  option was selected.

New files were being written into the system. And new registry entries were created. The default factory settings were being overridden by the corrupted personality package.

Installation is successfully complete. Thank you for your patience during the installation. Atlas hopes the product will serve you well.

Check to restart after setup completion.

The yellow-orange glow of the ECHOeye dimmed.

* * *

_The lights had been turned off. Like most interview rooms which were tasteful in a corporate way—purposely designed to appeal to a wide demographic, no matter what a person's preferences might be—there were gray industrial plates that besieged the interior._

_Every line was straight, every corner sharp, but the chairs were a bold splash of red. There was no back wall, but several large tempered glass panels that allowed a panoramic view of the city at night._

_There were three individuals seated around a digitally interactive table._

_"It says here you learned Arduino, JavaScript, and Python when you were seven." Soft-spoken, the man had yet to glance up from the digitized resume. He was wearing a smart glove on his right hand._

_Balding at the scalp, his age was only apparent in his white sideburns and his neatly trimmed beard. The four yellow round lenses contrasted sharply against the dark pallor of his skin as he scanned the rest of the bullet points._

_Until his recent reassignment from the Atlas Bio Dome facility, Cassius Leclemaine was a universally renowned scientist. While a lot of his research was still kept classified from the public, his other publications lent him a reputation as the leading expert on biogenetic experimentation on both plants and animals for military purposes._

_The rumor was that he was working on a dissertation about the possibilities of biological artificial intelligence._

_"I also dabble in ROS and C++." Wearing a tailored dark suit, Rhys was fidgeting with his orange shirt cuff. Sometimes he'd take a quick peek at the companion sitting beside the scientist, as if seeking silent guidance or for reassurances during the interview._

_An intimidating woman in her mid-twenties or thirties, Commandant Tilda Steele was one of the only six mystical Sirens that could exist at any known time in the universe._

_Her distinguishing features were her albinism and the blue birthmarks that decorated her arm like a tattoo sleeve, crawling up the side of her torso, and dotting three spots beneath a silver eye. She took great care in her appearance. Very fair hair was pulled back from her forehead, woven tautly into long braids which fell down her back in thin cornrows._

_Also a well-known public figure, she had been scrutinizing the applicant sitting across them from the interview table._

_"So tell me…." Swiping the black glove over the glass surface, the virtual resume was dragged over to his companion. His milky eyes were finally focused on him._ _Hands were folded and elbows were pointed outward as wide as they could go. Cat hairs were stuck to his coat. "For the position you're applying for...why should Atlas hire you? As you know, a Vault has been discovered."_

_"On Pandora, I know. But I'm not a Vault Hunter. My ambitions lie in Promethea. It's been my dream since college to join you guys." His palm smacked his chest. "I'm tough, morally flexible, and I can hack my way around any modern day Enigma machine. Atlas will benefit from my skill set."_

_A pale manicured brow lifted. "Your little stunt didn't exactly endear you to the higher-ups," Steele countered eloquently._

_"But it got your attention, didn't it?" Rhys managed a crooked grin. With his legs crossed and his hands now neatly placed on his upper knee, he leaned back in the chair. "My computer worm exposed the Vladof botnet and prevented the malware from exploiting vulnerabilities in infected Atlas devices. Come on, I even helped patch a hole in your network."_

_"A regular vigilante hacker in our midst?" Dropping her chin on the back of her hand and leaning in, she said, "I admit. For a code monkey, you walk and talk a big game."_

_When Rhys winced, just as Cassius was glancing at his wristwatch, Steele's focus shifted to the robot that was brought in._

_Dumpy had been intended as a demonstration of the personal projects he had worked on beside programming code and data mining. The design of it was crude, resembling a miniaturized interpretation of a Dalek from an old television series, but it was capable of flight and—as she'd seen—inflicting shock paralysis._

_Outside security footage from the surveillance cameras had recorded the man sending it out to tase one of the assailants, granting the Commandant enough window of opportunity to shoot down the remaining one between the eyes._

_Rhys had been reluctant to show them the installed voice modulator, insisting that it'd worked just fine playing back recorded conversations. That was until the incident before the interview, when Rhys had stumbled in on the hit ordered for the Siren._

_That had also been before she showed up to his job interview._

_"Yes, your robot. May I?" Cassius only reached for Dumpy when he was given approval. Examining the white and red paint job, he gingerly turned it over. "You have forgone realism and chose the other method to avoid the Uncanny Valley phenomenon. Was the design intentional?"_

_"...Absolutely."_

_He smiled nervously when Cassius looked at him skeptically over his glasses._

_"You are a decent software developer." The robot was set down with a muted thunk. "But you don't have a major in Robotics Technology. Programming the android brain is not as simple as sorting through large data sets."_

_"I may not have majored in it specifically," Rhys hedged in a careful tone, "but I was still part of the Robotics Club. I even enrolled a few courses. At the end of the day, many of today's androids use an interface that resembles an operating system."_

_"You limit yourself with that ergonomic answer. Code is impersonal. A lack of personalization limits the AI's ability to relate to and communicate with people." With his gloved hand flicking the air above the table, he was able to pull up the augmented reality of a floating brain._

_Cassius continued, "Circuits work like biological synapses and neurons." His wedding ring gleamed in the light when his fingers bloomed open like a flower with his other hand. "That is how information is stored, and spreads. It may be an algorithm that drives it, but the organic way that it functions is not too dissimilar to how we process information._

_"Like how plants require the sun to undergo photosynthesis, and need moisture and oxygen to survive, teamwork and cooperation are necessary to build the foundations. We are looking for innovators—"_

_His sentence was cut off when the table jostled. A cryptic smile had played along Steele's mouth when Cassius flinched in pain._

_"Well…." Rhys seemed to be at a loss for words. "I like to think that I'm plenty, uh, 'innovative?'"_

_"That I can agree with," Steele said, casually relocating her foot. In the dark, the artificial glow of the augmented reality made her face appear like a porcelain china doll. "Tell me. With your qualifications, have you applied to other companies?"_

_"…Uh…I did, um, consider Hyperion."_

_His reply had garnered a mixed response from his audience. Steele's smile had waned a bit. Cassius' brows had reflexively shot up past his glasses._

_"But they're my backup, I swear!" he assured quickly, adapting to the abrupt downturn of their mood. He scooted forward in his seat. "Atlas is still my number one pick. …Please hire me. Please, please, please."_

_Cassius tried to exchange looks with Steele, frowning when her sight remained concentrated on the candidate before them._

_She seemed to be examining how Rhys had clasped his hands together desperately in a begging gesture. Heavy in thought, she stared at him unblinkingly—with the intensity of a military officer._

_Eventually, she chuckled. "You? Do not worry your pretty little head. You will fit right in."_

_Rhys was beaming. Shooting to his feet, he said excitedly, "Does this mean—!"_

_"I think you will be...a valuable asset." The red chair skidded back when she stood. She extended her hand over the table, just as Rhys was in the middle of making a respectful salute. "Welcome to the team."_

_"Thank you. I'm very grateful, Commandant. You definitely won't regret it!" Aborting the gesture as casually as he could, Rhys shook her hand enthusiastically this time. He winced when her firm grip tightened like a vise._

_"You will see the world is our playground," she murmured. Her fingers squeezed once to the point of pain, before letting go._

_The boots made heavy thuds on the floor as Steele strode around the table._

_Catching the deliberate tilt of her head, Cassius understood her cue for him to stand up. Adjusting his glasses, he reached out to shake Rhys' hand._

_"We run like a very well oiled machine," Cassius cautioned. He slapped Rhys on the arm forcibly for good measure. Whether it'd been in a congratulatory manner or as a threat, it wasn't all too clear. "If you want to join us on that frontier, don't disrupt that."_

_Cassius wore a cologne of dried herbs, Rhys tried to keep his nose from scrunching up. He jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder._

_"Unlike our competitors," Steele was saying, "our product line is not only specialized to guns and machine warfare. We are not as limited as—say—Hyperion who scrapes at the bottom of the barrel for clients. It's a cutthroat world out there, Rhys."_

_She sliced her hand through the virtual projection, making the graphic fizzle above the table. "You will be wasted in that wasteland of inspiration. Hyperion, Dahl, Maliwan, Torgue, Tediore, Vladof, and whoever the rest of our competition is."_

_"Go figure." He laughed nervously. "I guess you’re right. Good thing I came to you guys first, right? ...Right?"_

_"You wouldn't stand a chance with those unscrupulous lowlifes. Whereas at Atlas Corporation, our goal is harnessing human potential."_

_Exerting enough pressure to make him stumble forward, she led him to the window. When they were close enough to see themselves reflected on the smooth surface, she gestured at the sea of stars which overlooked the city._

_“We look at the possibilities—very feasible ones—and it becomes our job to usher in their execution. To make us gods among men.” Her silvery eyes were a pair of moons when she gazed meaningfully at the tall reflection beside her. “Do you want to join us on that frontier? To make miracles happen?"_

_"Heck yes I do.”_

_"Then I have a proposition for you. You've know General Knoxx?" When she saw his blank expression, she tried, "First General of the Crimson Lance, son of Guillermo Delphino Knoxx III? ...The old grumpy guy with an eyepatch? You do not live under a rock. You must have heard of him when you did your research on us, no?”_

_"I've heard about Admiral Mikey," Rhys said carefully. "He's...five years old and in charge of the 3rd Starborne Brigade of the Crimson Lance. He has high-ranking Atlas officials like you acting as advisors for him...and I'm guessing General Knoxx is another one of those advisors I have to know."_

_He'd finished his sentence in a deadpan tone._

_Everyone knew only the top qualified professionals of the trade and privately-owned armed forces made up the infrastructure that belonged to the Atlas Corporation. The latter had been a major driving force for the company’s reputation until the turn of the century where they decided to shift focus._

_"I wouldn't worry," Cassius said, finally stepping up toward them. His hands were clasped loosely behind the small of his back. "You'll know once you visit Pandora. Commandant Steele is stationed there with that brigade. I'm also there, outfitted with a crew of talented and exceptional like-minded individuals."_

_"That's great and all, but I don't expect to be involved in top military secrets...and stuff?" When both Cassius and Steele smiled at him, it suddenly dawned on Rhys. His eyes were wide. "Wait."_

_"Why do you think I'm here? You impressed us. You impressed me. You only had to prove yourself as a true believer." The arm behind his shoulderblades felt as strong as an iron bar. "At our facility, we are at the very pinnacle of progress. Let me show you what it is all about. Do you have any questions?"_

_"...Can I ask about my salary?" Under the combined weight of their disapproval, he amended it to, "When do I start?"_

* * *

The video footage had reached the end. The profile of Rhys was serene and tranquil, seemingly undisturbed by the recent event.

Minimized on the orange HUD screen, there was a message that Angel had left behind:

C̶̡̣̹̠̭͑͋͜͝o̸̳̦̿m̸̗̀͗̂͗́e̷̟͖̠̦̅ ̷̮̿f̵̧̣͇̙̾͋̄̀ȉ̸̤̯͍͙͌́n̷͖̯͖̎̏͋͆̀̄d̴͇́̅̓̑̚͠ ̸̖͋̇͝m̵̧͖͇̱̤̌̉̃́̅͌é̵̡̘.̵̡̝̦̲̟͋̚̚͠.̴̰̳̜͚̣̈́̽ͅ.|

Coordinates on a map had been attached, pinpointing to a specific location on the planet Pandora. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, I looked at Commandant Steele, and the name “Tilda” or “Helga” popped up; “Sigrid” was a close candidate. I liked them for their strong meanings. Another creative liberty I took was with Yvette’s surname; Bamis was a reference to her voice actress from the game.
> 
> Next chapter: __the first spark_. The personality has been installed. Now it’s time to get the ball rolling when Jack and Rhys take a trip to Opportunity. That bodyguard defense matrix is going to be very handy…
> 
> [(I post sneak peeks and atmospheric clues for my stories on tumblr.)](http://phoenixtakaramono.tumblr.com/)
> 
> **ENDING SONG:** [Check It Out by _Oh the Larceny_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8wRzS_DSy0)


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